A Timeless Man
by PlanetOfTheWeepingWillow
Summary: At times I feel that the world has lost sense of time, and how finite while at once infinite it truly is. So, as I transcribe my dying breaths into words, remembering all the words from my lost journals, I bid you, too, to never envy the life of a timeless man. SuFin - COMPLETE
1. 100

**100.**

"My name is Berwald and I keep waking up at different times in my life."

The woman across the desk looked up to give me a long, quizzical glance. She did not know whether to continue asking questions or to write me off as clinically insane, whatever that meant. She adjusted her glasses and sighed.

I watched her move, hearing the clock in the room echo and echo and echo, chopping off bits of time with a fine blade. I tapped my finger against the edge of the cushioned seat. The woman drew her hair back in a bun, causing her pink cardigan to rise with her chest. I felt tired and bewildered.

Where am I?

I looked around the therapist's office, seeing various diagrams line the walls and two parallel clocks. I ran my hand through my hair, finding that it had thinned. What was the last thing I remembered…?

Something about a cup of coffee

I think.

I waited for her to continue. She looked at the paper before her. Maybe she decided I was worth her while. She cleared her throat with two soft grunts.

"When do you feel these moments of 'waking-up'?"

After some thought, I said; "There are some triggers. Sleeping, for instance, and something else I can't remember right now."

She nodded, tapping her red pen along her lips, which were pink too. What a shame, she had a nice, round face that didn't need anything else to exploit its youth. A mirror leaned against a stack of books. I caught my reflection in it, seeing a man much older than I remembered. Long lines sagged from the corners of my nose when I frowned. I relaxed my expression, seeing the age in my eyes and the complete fatigue lining every breath I took.

I looked over at the woman and found that she was no longer there. Instead a lanky, spidery woman with wispy hair admonished me.

Right, reflections were a trigger to.

I looked at my primary school principal, feeling guilty. I stared at the floor. My backpack hung over one of my shoulders. The principal stared at me. I continued to stare at the floor. The clocks echoed. The world spun. Something was missing.

"Berwald, are you listening?"

I nodded shyly.

"Look, as a student coming from across the seas, I know it can be difficult. But you cannot continue scaring the students like this."

"I can't help it, ma'am." I said. My tongue felt weighted down with my accent.

"I know. You are a good boy and a smart one too."

She reached over the desk and plucked a mint from the ceramic green bowl at the end of her desk. She rolled it between her fingers and stuck it out to me. I took it. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Go on, now."

I stood, leaving the room.

Let's see.

I have a scab on my knee. I should remember that.

What else?

When I entered the school yard again a student rushed up to me, his nearly white head bobbing below everyone else's. He went up to me and asked what had happened in a soft voice. His smile was wide and his eyes gentle. I didn't offer a smile. I shrugged, saying I had no idea. He frowned. Tino, that's his name.

Something missing.

The clocks echoed.

Time was lost.

Still something missing…

Tino patted my shoulder. "Well, at least you weren't punished or anything."

"Yeah, that's true." I said more so to the clear blue sky overhead than to him. We went to our other friends. I went up to the smallest of the bunch, a boy from Iceland who was two years younger than us and the little brother of a boy named Lukas. He looked at me with cold eyes hiding between a mop of grayish hair. He sat on the bench, clutching a book to his chest. He could barely read English, but he was trying.

"Think they'll call one of us next?" The big one named Matthias said, dribbling a basketball he was practicing with. He wanted to fit in with the other boys there. I didn't blame him. Then again, I barely fit in with the normal flow of time.

Tino shrugged. "I hope not."

"Better not," Lukas said. He was like the mother of the bunch and would continue to be so. He was sound and cool headed. He scratched the side of his nose, looking at his brother Emil. Emil continued to look at me, his lips pursed. He would have a deep voice. I didn't say any of this. I didn't even know I thought it.

We played around until we were called back to class. Matthias threw the ball unsuccessfully into the bin. It bounced off the metal rings and rolled into the grass and towards the parking lot. He hissed in displeasure and bounded after it. I watched his thick shoulders move under his red shirt.

One day he would betray me and I would hate him.

One day the buoyant, loud, and obsessive Matthias would inflict such a stinging wound on me that I would not be able to even trust him with a minute of my life. Yet, at the present, we were a tightly knitted group of friends under a nice autumn sky going to school. We were connected by our ancestry. Tino was Finnish and as beautiful as they come. I could easily fall in love with him.

Tino picked up his small beige back pack and held it close, walking off to class. He wore a light blue shirt and black pants. Lukas and Emil trailed after us. As we moved back into the building, surrounded by a multitude of sweaty, whining students, I cast my eyes down at Emil. What would Emil do? I could not recall. The ancient stones were cracking and losing their memory. Emil flicked his eyes, the color of the evening sky just before night time, in my direction. I could see my reflection in them.

Oh shit.

* * *

_I do not own Hetalia_

_and thus the long awaited SuFin story appears! _

_ I __have one hundred chapters to tell you this story, starting now._

_Inspired by the movies _Shuffle_ and _Momento


	2. 99

**99.**

My arms reached outwards, feeling the warm air cushioning each thick finger. I hopped from rock to rock. The stepping stones curled around the garden, leading to a wooden structure decorated with pensive flowers. I admired each corner, exploring it like another planet. I must be five years old. I squatted before a flat, brown plaque engraved with golden writing.

At this point I could read English well. I squinted, trying to cut off the harsh sunlight reflecting from the fine points of the metal.

"The stepping stones were used in Japanese Culture to inspire thoughtfulness, a slow pensiveness to seep through the walker's mind. As he reached for the next step he would have to balance and place it correctly, watching each progression through life as a parallel line with his voyage across the rocks."

Then there was a quote from a poem I could not decipher. I stood back up and hopped across the rocks, trying to think about my life. I was too young to think about it seriously. I thought of Tino and my friends. Their faces flashed in my mind, laughing or hitting playfully. Then I thought about the girl who stole my book and the boy who tripped me as I walked through the halls. I was a big boy at the time. I didn't know what inspired him to take me down. Maybe I was too much like a boulder: I fell and couldn't fight back.

I grew sad with each thought and began to skip rocks or accidentally squash small, plump flowers that grew along the rim of the road. Maybe that's when my life changed so much. I thought about it. I held on to the feeling. Then I let it drop.

I was both there and not. I could feel the rocks hitting the base of my foot as I landed ungracefully and I could watch as the sole of my foot made contact with the smooth surface, nearly slipping once or twice.

I was the actor.

I was the man in the movie theatre.

I was the producer.

I was the stranger outside of the movie theatre taking a late night stroll.

I was the sun.

I was the moon.

I was the sky and clouds and planes and cars and streets.

I was everything.

I was darkness.

I was light.

I was nothing.

I reached the end of the path where the lip of the cement road reached out towards us. I stepped on to it lightly, looking for someone, parents perhaps. I found them admiring a bonsai tree. I let them watch it.

The cement road sprawled past the small garden, to a barbed wire fence. I walked towards it and stopped just short, standing on my toes. I was a large child, but I still could not see over the fence. I managed to find a spot not packed with kinky black coils and peer through.

An empty expanse opened up, swallowing any plants or warm sunshine. Packed dirt surrounded a gray building without any colors. I tried to look past and saw several cars with dark windows roaming past. I looked around the fence for a sign cautioning against electrocution. I found none. I touched the fence and pulled myself up higher so I could see a strip of clear land. My forearms trembled with the effort.

In front of the building I saw a man with a large mechanism slung across his back. He wore a cloth around his nose and mouth and dark glasses covering his eyes. The rest of his person was clad in dark colors. He roamed through a thin stretch of land. When he reached the end of his path his legs came together. Then he twisted in a singly, snapping movement and roamed to the other end. He did so three times in the time it took for me to give up. My forearms stung. I dropped back to the ground and rubbed the deep red marks from my hands.

I had seen these areas before. At school we called them "Protection Units". I did not understand what we needed protection against. Now I do.

My parents now went to explore the stepping stones. Father held mother's arms, hard and muscular. He adjusted his glasses. He was wiry and loose. Mother was compact and stern. Both loved beauty and photography and each other. I walked across to greet them. Mother patted my back and told me about how the Japanese held Tea Ceremonies and how each plant functioned. I listened and took in the information.

Shade seized us briefly. A passing cloud blocked the sun. Mother took her sunglasses from her pocket, blinking in the darkness. Father took me by the hand and led me out of the garden.

We entered a circle of bricks and flowers that defined the park. Mother stood behind me. She put her glasses on. The surface was smooth and black, glistening. I looked up, seeing a bent version of my reflection. My eyes were on either side of a bulging face, like a fish. I laughed at it. Mother laughed to. I felt the ground slip from under me, dragging me to a different time in my life. I submitted.

I enjoyed the feeling with my arms spread out like an airplane I once saw in a picture book.


	3. 98

**98.**

It was evening when I woke up next. My head was pressed against the warm window of a car, bobbing along painfully with each jerk and stop of the vehicle. My outfit was heavy. I blinked away my sleepiness and turned my eyes down. I found an army uniform on.

I was twenty years old.

The seat before me was oozing stuffing. Red dotted it from the falling sunshine. Scratches lined the blue leather. The soldier before me was nodding off too.

Since when was there a war?

No, not a war.

I looked around. The men and women's eyes were calm and impassive. A group to the left in the large truck played cards. The decks rattled and threatened to slip to the floor. Before it a woman with a toothpick sticking from her lips grabbed it and set it into a plastic tray. No one seems excited. It was just a regular work day. I was to protect. I was only to fight if I had to. I didn't have a weapon.

Outside empty, dry fields rolled past. Scrappy plants occasionally leaned towards the burning sun. Otherwise there was only yellow dirt. The car flung a massive shadow against the earth. There were twenty-one of us.

"You fell asleep there, didn't you?"

Matthias thumped me across the back. I started, looking at him behind me. His cheeks were sunburned and his grin wild. I nodded faintly.

"I didn't realize it."

Matthias was still my friend here. He reclined against the bus-like seat. The car was divided into two halves, one with tables to eat and drink and play games. The other was to rest. We were to drive thirty hours. We knew the end point and the starting point: never the points in between. As far as we knew nothing existed between point A and B. We did not know that there were an infinite number of points in that line. It was just dirt, now.

Matthias was still my friend. I thought this again and again in my separate, sleepy way. I watched my body shift to face him. A white corner poked from my pocket. Matthias looked at it, still my friend, before the betrayal, and plucked it out. My body grunted and stared like a dumb beast.

He regarded the picture with his bright eyes and turned it towards me. I stared. There was Tino standing in front of an empty train track. His hands were raised in glee, his gloved hands spread to catch the falling snow that matched the color of his fine hair.

"Do you miss him?" Matthias asked.

I nodded.

He gave me a strange look and pushed the picture back into the thick fabric of my shirt. I tucked it in better and turned away from my still friend. Before the betrayal. Before the pain. What pain? I don't know.

"He likes his job, doesn't he?" Matthias asked.

Before I replied a cart rolled by. Pushing it was a thin, wiry woman with a cloud of fizzy brown hair surrounding her narrow face. She grinned at us and offered us a variety of foods to eat. At the bottom of the cart were rows of tightly packed boxes. These were issued. She bent down and picked one up, giving it to Matthias. Then she took one with my name on the front in bold letters and gave it to me. I thanked her.

On the top of the cart were white and black packages of sweets and other snacks that didn't cost much but very few people bought them. Matthew was one of the few. He handed over a clean bill and plucked a white wrapped from the front and tore it open. Inside was a creamy candy bar. He munched on it noisily, watching me for my answer.

I patiently undid the plastic wrap from the metal box, ready to be reused, and nodded again. Inside was a square serving of rice, another of vegetables, a slice of bread, and a bottle of water. I drank the water first.

"He likes to cook," I explained, "It's only inevitable that he'd like to cook for us."

Matthew threw the wrapper into a plastic bad the woman left behind. His arm clashed with that of one of the men's behind him. He laughed and they play-fought for rights over the bag. Matthias one and threw his wrapper away first. He turned back to me, his eyes still dancing with the stupid joy derived of slapping a grown man's hand.

"Do you ever think you'll end up with one of the meals he made?"

I looked down at the clump of dry rice on the plastic spoon, painted now crimson with the fading sunlight.

"I would know if I did end up with one."

"Why would you need to anyway?" Matthias said, not hearing my response, "You get his food every night when you're off duty."

"You say that like we're married."

"I say that because you will be married in a few months."

I felt excited, but I didn't show it. I finished the meal in the metal box and then shut it, waiting for the woman to return. When she did I put it in the pile of dirty boxes and she left.

Now the sun had vanished. The lights along the top flickered to life, only dimly. The days were longer in the summer. I reminded myself of that. I found that if I didn't I would forget what order the seasons came.

I don't know why.

There are many things now I don't know the cause for.

"Arrival in three hours." The speaker overhead announced in a cold voice.

The captain stood at the front of the cramped space. "All right, you heard that whiny bitch. Get some sleep. You'll miss it for the next few days, learn that now you newcomers!" She called out to the group, of which half were brand new, in her powerful voice that alone probably propelled her to her rank. She stood before us, her muscles bulging in her uniform and her brown hair tightly tied back. I always liked her. She was fun.

A faint memory washed ashore. I saw her at a table drinking with me and telling a story of how her underwear was found in a tree outside of her high school building three years after she graduated. She laughed for a long time, the sound ringing in the cold room. I don't know where the memory falls into place in my life.

I envy those whose lives are a single thread and not a tangled knot vainly trying to be relieved.

The newcomers laughed uneasily at her remark. I settled in the seat, knowing full well how the next five days I'll barely sleep. We were underhanded so some of us took two shifts. Now we were building as a group. The bigger regiments were out doing more secretive jobs. I hoped to never get there. I tagged along with our military unit to advance in college and achieve a better job. Since Tino's incident, he had no better future than boiling rice or potatoes and then placing them in tin containers day after day after day.

I gazed out the window while thinking. The sky darkened, as though being dipped in ink that climbs, capillary to capillary, thread to thread, slowly until parts burst into clear stars. My reflection became more vivid in the dim lights of the area. I met my own eyes briefly before the light bulbs were violently cut by the captain.

I looked afraid.


	4. 97

**97.**

As I lay dying, with thoughts drifting through my mind, clouds across an empty sky, I felt my heart sink with sorrow. I could not remember where it rooted from. All I was capable of understanding with a strong gush of tears threatening to burst from my eyes. I felt something heavy sink in my old stomach, unable to turn food over.

Above me was a blank ceiling painted blood red with the lights of the hospital. A machine near my head beeped in time with my heart, growing gradually slower, as though I was falling asleep. The nurse across the hall was asleep, I think, her small chin nodded away and a pen rolling from her fingers. I could imagine her but not see her, at least not all of her.

An old, shriveled hand reached up, bathed in crimson. Each vein threw a dense black shadow over to the bone to the nail to the wrinkle and to the tube hanging from the wrist. Another wire connected to the contraption at the finger. I realized with a start that the hand was my own. I bent my fingers painfully and drew in a shallow breath.

And I understood the sorrow as death crawled on the shore, cold waters of the sea gripping sand and dragging it down grain by grain.

I was utterly alone.


	5. 96

**96.**

He was teaching me a strange dance. Tino curled his fingers around my hand and his others gently bit into my shoulder. I felt my heavy hand on his waist. We swung around to a slow, melancholy song. The violins mourned their tune. The piano softly murmured a melody.

It was dark, I blinked to adjust. Globes of orange poured from lights around the room, but where we stood purplish darkness loomed. Tino's pants were of gauzy white material. A blue flower was pinned to his lapel. It was very old fashioned. I wore something more modern, with pale blues and reds, and a crescent moon design on the corner of each sleeve. Tino's hand rode up to my wrist, rubbing against it.

His lips broke into a smile. I heard him laugh.

It was so distant.

My head was heavy with intoxication. And slowly, I began to slip, to fall, and my life began to crack straight down the middle. The only thread binding the split seam to Tino and he was tearing fast, too. The fine lines of the thread began to pop out of it, sticking in the air like hairs. And I just fell and fell and fell…


	6. 95

**95.**

Around me a field of flowers rustled in the wind. A wave of gold and red flickered past. Grasses and soft petals rose to brush against my knees. I had on a simple shirt and pants. I didn't know what time it was. I turned to face the horizon, hoping for an answer. The air was warm. It must be day. Or perhaps evening. I watched the sky, soaked in purple and blue, turn slowly darker. Wispy clouds drifted past, glowing yellow as the fading sun splashed them with light.

Before me in the field Tino stood. He held a box in his hands, a large smile across his face. My body lunged forwards and I moved through him, pressing the grass down. He wore a white shirt and white pants, pure as snow. I approached him and Tino threw his arms around me, pulling me close. He kissed my cheeks and lips.

This memory too began to slip too soon.

As a clueless vagabond I drifted through life. With each stop and each sight I noticed patterns. Times of great joy or happiness were quick and short lived. They slipped through my hands like sand and I was catapulted to the next moment. In the next moment I would endure suffering. Those moments, like the one following the field with Tino and the kisses we shared rolling in the grasses, were too long. They hurt and I felt unbearable agony.

I tried to forget and engulf myself into Tino's world—our world. I tried to focus only on his slender hands pointing at bruised clouds, telling me in grave detail what he saw. I tried to agree when he directed my attention to the nearby camps and how horrible they were. I tried to forget I was a soldier, that I would have to experience war again the second my eyes met Tino because I knew I would see myself in the ink black irises. I tried and I tried. I denied being heartbroken and wretched. I denied it for so long.

Tino turned and cupped my cheeks in his. He stared at my trembling, pale lips.

"What's the matter, Berwald?" he asked softly. His voice was like a winter's breeze.

"My life is a chaotic mess." I muttered.

"All of our lives are."

"Mine is worse."

"Don't feel like you have to be the best at everything." Tino teased, emphasizing it with a chuckle.

"I'm not trying to be," I harangued him and tore my face from his fingers.

His fingers hung in the air, bent neatly and turning to amber in the evening light. The sun would drown in the night soon. Tino folded his hands on his laps, slowly, as if each muscle needed to be activated separately.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

Tino turned to face the horizon, opposite of where the sun sank. A ring of fire lit it, creeping along the mountains and along the empty plains. The hills sloped gently before rising jaggedly into the rocks that prevented our communication with the other side of our flat land.

It was coming soon. My skin prickled.

Soon I would leave this place, evaporate like a wisp of smoke, be snuffed like a candle, and Tino would not notice a thing. His time was a straight line. Mine was a twisted rope that often was shortened or cut and sometimes I experienced death thirty times in a row. Sometimes I experienced the first entering of a pink lotus twice in what felt like a century. Time made no sense.

Tino turned and placed his lips on mine. I allowed him to kiss me. I trailed my hands along his back the way he liked it. He pulled away and his eyes met mine. My heart sank. His lips smiled anyway, not noticing the hard rock welling in my mind. He didn't notice the strong breeze dragging me to the future, to a horrible future, each one worse than the last.

"I love you." He said.

"I love you too." I replied and looked away. Time caught me in its rivers and I was thrown down the stream again, catching on rocks and allowing myself to be carried.

After all, I am a timeless man.


	7. 94

**94.**

The dust rose from the sandy terrain, leaking into our eyes and causing tears to form. We pulled eye protection on, half to see better and half so we could not see each other's fear. We leaned against the platform, waiting, waiting, waiting…

My eyes met with Matthias's. The crazy grin he wore proudly now was a trembling frown. He looked towards the group marching to us. I felt no sympathy for him. This was after the betrayal.

Betrayal of what?

My heart pounded in my head. I hated him. I hated him for what he had done. I hated him for something I could not remember. His gaze flicked briefly my way, a look of apology. I returned it with a hard, hateful gaze. He noticed and crept towards me. I didn't move.

The other army had spotted us and raised their guns. Black, yawning hulks regarded us, ready to blow our brains out. The captain next to me muttered something about a sandstorm. I looked where she did and saw a rising, curved wall approaching us. Wisps of sand flew around it, like a beige cloud had drifted down to earth. I shuddered at the sight.

The other army noticed and calls rose through the air in a foreign language. A word like "_march!" _bellowed through the air. I did not know what it meant. My army hid behind the barracks. We heard their strangled cries and saw the sand sweep over our heads.

Once I heard about the ocean. It was a massive mass of water that only a century or so ago you could see if you went to the right place. I had never seen it, but I had seen pictures. I had read stories about it. I pictured the sand towering over my head as clear blue water frothing at the lip. I pictured a rainbow of fish swimming over my head.

For a brief moment I convinced myself that this was fact. My heart leapt to my throat in glee. I had heard the ocean once on a recording, a swishing and rumbling sound mostly. I heard that in my head and felt relief wash over me.

Soon the sand began to relax. Maybe it was three minutes later, maybe three hours. I rose steadily to my knees to view the surroundings. I found the barrel of a thick gun pointing at my forehead. Behind it was a boy no older than eighteen, his hands trembling and his face wet with tears. He was from the opposing side, I could tell by the color of his hair and his light green eyes. I frowned. If I moved he would shoot me right away.

He was jabbering in an incoherent language. I could not decipher his instructions. Then, in a broken version of my mother tongue he mustered out that I should surrender and that I should—but I did not hear the rest for the bullet that pierced his brain.

A fine red mist puffed out from his head. His eyes and nose began to bleed. His skull collapsed and his mouth hung open, dripping fluid. For a moment he stood there, his head tilted back. That moment would appear in nearly every dream I had afterwards. But I did not think of it as I watched him fall. I was so tired. I was so worn. The dead boy was just another body, just another number in a sea of digits and figures. It was no tragedy. It was just the course of war.

I could see a figure rising from the sandy fog. He held the gun before him. A wisp of smoke drifted from the muzzle. The figure, Matthias, gave me a lopsided grin. He had hoped for atonement. I felt bitter resentment, relief, and utter confusion all at once. I clutched my gun and aimed, staring at the rising army, like corpses prying free of their graves.

We shot and fought. Captain next to me ordered me to follow her. I didn't quite understand what she meant. Her eyes were wide with fright. Her order broke off. She was staring at Matthias. Had he killed another man of our own? He was reckless. I wasn't surprised. I turned to ascertain my suspicions.

My gun nearly slipped from my hands. Matthias was lying dead on the sand. His blood was pouring into the twisting swirls of sand, and then being carried off. His head was bashed in two. His ribs looked broken. I couldn't find his leg and instead discovered a mass of black lump. Around him were other prostrate bodies, all clawing for their guns, all with their mouths open, and all far too young. I felt hatred and fear rising up in my spirit. I followed captain, despite my urgent need to attend to Matthias. At least I tried to.

Before I could stop my legs I was bounding back towards my brotherly friend. I bent before him and held his head. I didn't know what was happening in my mind. All I knew was that everything was falling apart. Another soldier helped me drag Matthias behind the barracks. I tried to tend to his wounds, though I knew he was dead. I tried to put his head back together. I tried to locate his missing limb and eye. I held his shock of blond hair in my hands, regardless of the blood and brain matter seeping through my fingers. I cried for his sacrifice. By standing up to kill the boy who wanted to kill me, he had given himself away as a target. He wanted atonement.

He wanted it and he got it.

I began to forgive him. I still could not remember what he did. My saline tears dripped down my cheeks on and to him, on to a little spot on his nose. I wiped it, smearing blood along his forehead. His glassy remaining eye looked up at me. The last flicker of life went out. He went out having been forgiven. It was the final and only gift I could ever give him.

I bent my head and collected myself. No soldier should act this way. I left Matthias to sleep—the medical staff will heal him—I kept telling myself this lie. I kept refusing that he was dead, that I had killed him.

I kept my face stony, stoic, for the rest of the battle. I earned a scar along my thigh that battle. We won. I felt no victory. I had my life intact, but I also had no meaning left to it. My enemy, the enemy I lived to hate, was now dead. There was another part of me missing that I could not recall.

As I stared at my reflection that night, washing my face and washing the exhaustion off of it, I noticed the dead look in my eyes, as if I was the one who was shot and not Matthias. The water in the deep basin rocked with the truck. I stared at my gaunt cheeks and the bloody scar along my lip. I bandaged it. The captain came around and patted my back sadly.

Her touch burned. I lowered my head and pressed my face into the coarse towel, hoping dimly that the next memory I would at least not have to suffer.


	8. 93

**93.**

There is a part of my life I do not understand. Whenever it appears all I know is that it's horribly cold and bitter. I feel hungry and thirsty and yet utterly at peace during these times. There is a tarp over my head and sometimes when this happens I think I've lost a body part. I move my eyes as much as I can and I see a pair of hands moving, as though dissecting me. I feel terror well up in my throat and I want to throw up a scream but nothing appears. I fade and I appear again in this region of my life. I assume it's a surgery I had to undergo, but I am not sure.

All I know is that at this point I am one with myself, for however briefly it is.


	9. 92

**92.**

Whenever I experienced this next part of my life, I see it as though through a veil of white. The edges are unclear, like vision at the end of a long, deep sleep. The noises are muffled, as if someone had pressed their palms against the speakers. And the rest of the senses are numb and far away.

All except for one sense, that is.

I feel overwhelming happiness. I feel happiness beyond measure. I feel a happiness that cannot be contained: a happiness that causes my heart to twist and my mind to writhe. I feel both orgasmic euphoria and the bliss of relief simultaneously.

Over the mountains of bed sheets and pillows Tino lay, naked in the pale sunlight. I heard the swishing of an ocean, somewhere distant, like it had been recorded. The soft sunlight caressed Tino's soft cheeks and his glistening blue eyes. His lips spread happily and his hand searched across the white, puffy clouds of our bed, reaching my hand, then my wrist, and then trailing up my arm to find my face so he could feel my cheeks. He could feel them turn red and blotchy with my mesmerizing love.

Tino would then rise from the bed and crawl to me, kissing my face and my neck. I laughed and held him tightly. A seagull cried in the distance. I tried to peer through the gauzy curtains, out into the ocean, but I found only pure white light pouring in. I felt Tino press against me and moan with the bliss of our nearness, without having to have had any sort of stimulation. I rubbed his back and allowed myself to sink deeper and deeper into the touches and sounds.

And each time I had this memory, I forgot it was a dream. I rudely awoke to another reality, unconnected to the fantasy by the sea.


	10. 91

**91.**

We were children again. The world continued to revolve solemnly for the next few years. The chatter of neighbors in our backyard filled the air. Mother walked in and out of the house, carrying dishes of steaming food or returning empty plates. She talked through the open windows, her sweet voice flinging through the air.

Occasionally father would pass by the doors to grab an art project or another collector's item he wished to show off. I saw him carrying a slim, ivory stone cradled in a white basket. He hid it from my view, boasting about its ancient origins loudly to our guests. I peered through the windows and through the cracks in the doors, trying to fend off my loneliness. In the bright, pouring sunshine, slowly turning red as evening neared, I saw the adults now sitting, now standing, now doing something peculiar with their mouths and hands. I did not understand it, but I received such secret satisfaction from watching their games. I felt wicked, like a brat demon child from the old books.

At one point, as night started to appear along the rim of the sky, I heard shuffling noises up the stairs. I hid in my room, peering through a crack. I held a book in my hand, so if someone were to barge in I could hop on my bed and pretend to have been peacefully reading the entire time. No one entered. My lamp emitted a hazy glow into the room, casting my face into reverse-shadow.

The visitors crept past my room and into the loft, where I knew my parents slept. I heard Mother's tinkling laugh and father gruff bark following. I was jealous and mad that they hadn't let me join in on the celebration. I had not known there were guests until the first couples started pouring in. I didn't know it was a celebration until a bottle of old champagne popped, following by a spattering of applause and woops.

The violators stood in my parents' loft, half-hidden by the dim lighting. The man grabbed at the woman's dress. She mumbled something and laughed, gliding through the objects in the drawers. I heard something clatter and shuffle. Then I could not see the couple from behind the banister, but I saw the woman bending over one of the armoires. A drawer had slid wide open and mother's underwear fell out. The woman rifled through them madly, finally finding an object hidden in her fist and in the shadows that she slid to the man behind her who was making hideous sounds. I felt sick.

They had stolen something!

I knew I had to run out and confront them, but in doing so I would have to disobey my parents' strict orders that I stayed hidden in my room. But they never mentioned what I should do in case of a robbery! I felt betrayed. I felt unloved. I wanted to strangle mother and father for doing this to me. I clutched at the door, trying to pierce the darkness with the force of my gaze. Soon I heard an exasperated sigh. They had not found what they were seeking and turned away. The woman flitted by my door again, her blood red dress rumpled. I think I caught the man meet my eyes, but he was too embarrassed to keep it.

Once the guests had left and I was having lunch with my parents the following day, I described to them what I had heard. I tried to make it seem as though I had been dozing and perked my head up at a sound. Then I had supposedly crept to the doorway, thinking my parents had arrived to bid me good night, when I saw a woman in a red dress creep through the drawers and take something.

At this, Mother and Father laughed loudly.

I thought they had caught me in my dishonesty and waited to be punished. I bunched my shoulders together, waiting for a hard slap. I did not know what I awaited such a punishment. I had never received a beating, in fact it was not even the norm to hit a child unless he had truly committed some crime. But, with crime low in our part of the world, that rarely happened. My thoughts had been influenced by the past. I had read books where misbehaving children gained a flogging against their buttocks for stealing a treat or toy.

Instead of hitting me, father patted my head. "Do not worry, we had sent them up there to retrieve something of ours. I appreciate you telling us this, however, Elder Berry." He had called me by the nickname I once loathed. I had memories where it brought me great joy and I had memories where it only caused me pain. Sometimes I could not tell the difference.

"But why did they have to act like thieves?" I argued.

"We have strange neighbors." Father said.

Mother turned to me. Her smooth, sloping face was sober, darkly so. She sighed through puckered lips. "Son, you must understand, we are fools."

I did not know how to respond. I turned to my water glass, staring into the clear depths. I poked at my food, hoping I would look like I was pensive when in reality I was sick to the stomach for some reason. I fingered the glass, rubbing away the film of sweat along the surface. My eyes started to droop. I had not slept that night, for worry over what the man and woman had stolen. Was it precious? Would it cause us to lose our house? My imagination rocketed to a thousand and one different places, leaving my body paralyzed on earth.

Now, since I knew my parents were fine with it and that my father's strong jaw did not twitch into the agitated expression he wore when upset as I told him, I could rest. As I dropped off to sleep, Mother circled her arms around me and took me upstairs, admonishing me for not sleeping.

"One day you'll live in our world, Berwald." She set me down in my bed. As my vision faded, giving way to dreams, she kissed my forehead and with a single look placed bountiful love in my heart again. I was content until the next, inevitable party.


	11. 90

**90.**

We were again children. This memory is short, brief, and the moment I dream it up it vanishes back into fine powder, into something I had never seen before. We're standing in a park, surrounding by bountiful, plump flowers and coarse grasses. We toss a ball back and forth.

Matthias raises the orange sphere over his head and flings it forwards. It hits the side of Lukas's head and he falls down, straight down as though tugged to the earth by a string. His hit meets with the cement with a dull, loud thud. We recoil and then stand still, not knowing what to do. Tino's mother looks over and her lips part in a scream;

"What happened?" She rushes over.

My mother looks away from the novel in her hands at me. Her eyes meet mine, scorching hot. I look over at Lukas, seeing a flower of red bloom. His body quivers. Tino bursts into tears. Matthias stares, muttering.

"Oh no… Oh no… I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," and on and on he continues to apologize helplessly, his legs like stone attached to the ground.

Emil, who had been sitting in the corner, preferring not to play in the blazing sun, turned green and vomited at the sight. A low moan emitted from Lukas, who then becomes comatose. His mother scrambles over and picks him up. She does not wail. She's a doctor, I recall, and she lifts Lukas's eyelids, staring into his vacant eyes that do not react to the light.

"He has a concussion. Call the paramedics." She says, calmly.

I'm baffled and I stare at her again, wondering how she could be so calm when he son was dying. I notice fear burned into her features. She does not even glance at Matthias. The paramedic siren wails to minutes, maybe two hours, afterwards. I remain still, watching the blood drip from Lukas's fine brow and to the black cement. I feel sick to and I stumble behind a tree to heave. Nothing comes from my stomach. I slump against a tree. Tino, weeping miserably, calls for his mother. She comes cradles him in her arms and whispers something to him.

I wait for my mother to do the same. She does not. She continues to stare at me, as though I was an anomaly she had never witness before. This sends the sickness to my throat and I let it go. I watch as the world spins and I feel that I should fall over, only to get my mother's attention.

In this disjointed memory, I notice my first glimmer of understanding that something dark lay in mother's heart. I hear Matthias scream as the memory fades:

"IT WASN'T MY FAULT! NO! IT WAS NOT! YOU CAN'T BLAME ME! HE WAS STANDING THERE!" He rushes away, snot dribbling down his face and his eyes looking like he had seen death. He didn't, not yet.


	12. 89

**89.**

This time I am an infant. I was in my crib, peering through the thin white bars. I saw my mother sitting on the bed, near me, but also behind a frail curtain. I do not comprehend much, except that it is warm and that mother is not far away, and also I am sleepy. I shook my fists and decided to sleep. Before I could, the door swung open and a large man, with brutish muscle and thick hair. He was not my father. I did not recognize him. I wanted to cry but instead I gurgled sleepily.

The stranger approached my mother and embraced her, then his back was turned to me and all I could hear was a sensual grunt or two, then a brief muttering, and then enveloping silence. I fell asleep to that sound, feeling betrayed and angry, and only later when my father hut my mother's cheek and she wept miserably did I know why.


	13. 88

**88.**

Now I was dead. I was past living. I felt everything all at once. My energy had spread through the universe, like a drop of blood in water. I felt the trees shimmering, I felt the birds nesting, I felt the sun beating down on dry earth, I felt everything and nothing all at once because my life force had ceased. The vessel that carried me now was gone and buried deep in the earth, utterly alone.


	14. 87

**87.**

Tino and I had finished dancing. Now we sat in the corner of the dimly lit room. I curled my arm around him and pulled him to my shoulder. He hummed along with the smooth cellist. The purple and red lights poured into the room. The caused Tino's face to shine. I kissed his cheek and my nose, too, dipped into the crimson glow.

The cellist twirled his cello, then placed it against his shoulder, plucking the strings of the fine lost instrument. As he began to dig into a chorus, the curtains behind him parted. The crowd burst into whoops and hollers as the singer, JoJo Rocks, stepped on to the stage. She was taller than the cello. Her shoulders were broad and slanted evenly down to narrow hips. She was suited in a deep violet cocktail dress. It barely contained her chest which rose and fell with her strong voice.

As the song grew faster her voice grew with it. She tossed her curls back. They swung with the rhythm and her hips twirled. Her long legs stalked through the stage, her heels clicking. The enjoyment of this illicit pub filled my heart to the brim. Tino gripped my hand.

"She's gorgeous!" He whispered in my ear.

"She was a gorgeous man, too." A voice next to him informed us. I leaned over to see a woman dressed smartly in a beige suit. Her brown hair was done upwards. She grinned at me, her eyes twinkling.

Tino raised his eyebrows. "Oh? What was her name then?"

"I think Johnny or something," the woman shrugged. "But man, she's glorious now! I knew her when she was still transitioning. At first it was difficult, but you can see how it looks now."

JoJo leaned over the stage.

"_Like taxis in the galaxy, I'll take you anywhere you waannnttt-woah, woah…." _She sung, her hand outstretched to a man sitting calmly in the front row. He blushed and looked away. She laughed in the middle of her song, swinging away and throwing one arm in the air, flicking it to the song. The bracelets danced in the strange, ethereal light.

Her song ended, punctuated by applause. She thanked the people, alternating between a high-pitched bunny rabbit cute voice to a booming man voice that commanded power. She laughed at that too.

"Any suggestions for my next song?" She asked, throwing her arm around the cellist. He smiled at her, his finger strumming a single string to create a pulsing background pulse.

Tino shot his slender, smooth hand into the air.

"Yes, pretty boy?" She asked, batting her eyes.

"Do you know any old classics?" Tino called through the crowd. My hand slid from his shoulder to his hip, I squeezed it gently.

JoJo thought about it for a moment, humming. Slowly, she began to nod. "I certainly do. Anything in mind?"

"How about one called _Hallelujah_?"

"Oh, a sad song?" JoJo said, but proceeded to whisper instructions to the cellist, who I later gathered was her husband. Her hands lingered a little too long on his knuckles.

I leaned to Tino, asking why he chose that song. To that he gave me a sad smile. "I like it. Sometimes I miss the old songs…"

"You weren't even born then." I muttered gruffly.

He shrugged and held my head.

JoJo launched into a beautiful version of the song, swinging softly. She didn't offer her voluptuous form to seduce the audience. She only offered her voice, which encompassed the area and turned the room silent, at the will of her voice and the soft cello and even softer piano.

_"… The baffled king composing Hallelujah… hallelujah, hallelujah… Your faith was strong but you needed proof. You saw her bathing on the roof. Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew ya… she tied you to your kitchen chair. She broke your throat and cut your hair. From your lips she drew the…"_

Here, she took a breath and burst into a lengthy, heartrendingly beautiful "hallelujah". I did not understand why that song had been banned.

And then, an idea was planted in my mind. It was ripe time for it too. I looked down at sentimental Tino, tears balancing on his eyelashes. With my thumb and brushed them off. I kissed his lips and he shook with emotion.

When JoJo finished there was a brief period of silence. No one dared make a sound. The front row then stood to their feet and applauded her loudly. The rest of the room followed with ripples of clapping. After they settled and JoJo had thanked them enough, she asked for another song to lighten the spirits.

Song after song, some recent some old, only watered that seed. It grew and grew and I became bolder. The glass of wine I downed also helped. She asked for a final song and I raised my hand first. She looked towards me gently.

"I have a special song request." I said loudly, louder than I normally speak.

"What would that be?"

"Sing the love ballad: _Song of the Shore_."

Tino gasped next to me.

A smile appeared on JoJo's face. She nodded and began the upbeat, warm song about love by the sea and the breeze and the swaying palm trees, all things I wanted so desperately to see. I wanted them so badly I didn't realize I had something as beautiful and more right next to me. Once JoJo finished I turned to Tino, taking the ring I had savored in my pocket for the past few days, looking for the right time, (I had expected not to even touch it that night). I bent down to my knee and asked him to marry me. Tino burst into happy tears and embraced me, choking out a "yes"!

I held him in my arms. The rest of the world vanished, swallowed by the sea. _Song of the Shore_, a new era ballad was one most used to declare never ending love and the desire for marriage. Tino had recognized it instantly. I kissed his cheeks and face and hairline, holding him tightly, hoping he would never fade to sea foam.

JoJo was the first to applaud us, crying out in happiness. The rest of the audience did as well. The excitement died down and my love only burned more intensely. JoJo disappeared behind the curtain, leaving behind an empty void where she was. I suddenly missed her, though I had only exchanged a handful of words with her.

Forever I would thank her.


	15. 86

**86.**

My hands were clasped around Matthias's throat. Something was wrong. I shook him, staring at pools of blood and Tino's face. I could barely see what he doing except a stretch of his mouth in an ear-shattering scream. I looked back at Matthias, the memory already fading. His fist met my temple and I tumbled over, glowering at him. All I knew was the fear thumping in my chest. To my left I saw Tino, standing and clutching a bloodied rag to his chest and trembling. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He continued to scream and scream.

A ring of bruises surrounded Matthias's neck. The wiry muscles beneath his blotched skin flexed. His hair was in even more disarray and his eyes enraged. He was screaming too. I felt as though I was the only one with their mouth closed. I kicked Matthias's stomach and stood, applying my fist to his nose and crushing it. We scrambled, until my blood-smeared face met with my reflection, then the blue sky speckled with clouds, and finally in Tino's soft, scratched hands pulling me away. I felt like a rock sinking to the bottom of a well, wordless.


	16. 85

**85.**

"Let's get this straight: you keep 'waking up at different times in your life' and, lately, you've had trouble sleeping?"

I affirmed this with a wary nod.

This time her nails were painted purple, with white specks I assumed were galaxies. For a moment my tired eyes were lost in the stars there. I imagined floating, breathless in space, seeing swirling colors surround me and I could tilt my head back to—oh I don't know what—drink them, perhaps.

Outside there were mossy creepers clutching to the window. The sky was overcast and I heard shrill children's voice echoing in the court. I heard a ball thumping on the ground. A shiver passed down my back. Again I saw, but did not experience, the basketball hitting Lukas and sending him to the hospital.

"I am going to assume it is insomnia," the therapist said slowly, pulling a paper from her folder and leafing through it. She made a mark here and there. Today her hair was done in artificial curls.

"The other therapists said so too." I argued.

She noticed the brooding look I had mastered and recoiled, faintly. She was new but she had already seen her share of insanity. She had probably seen blood on the walls and eyes haunted, and sunk to the bottom of the sea.

"Well, if you really do 'vanish into different times', then why have you sat here without leaving this entire time?"

"No one else experiences it." I said, pulling a notepad from my pocket. In this time of my life I had taken to carrying this notebook with me, jotting down notes about my dilemma whenever I entered this phase. "As for everyone else in my life, I am present at every point. I'm the only one who leaves, but barely, and I come back just in time."

She nodded, lowering her eyes to her desk. The children outside began to bicker over some pointless matter. Some were children of mental illness, others with social issues, and some others who were just innocent children with sick parents. I felt bad for them most of all. Their life was nothing but disorienting sickness.

"Well, your file says you fought in the Hundred Graves' War, thank you sir for that, and it is highly likely you suffer from PTSD."

I acknowledged her thanks. As I grew older they became more abundant.

To my silence she continued: "And it says you've dealt with death your entire life, the loss of your spouse, your close friends, and you've had infidelity in your family that tore them apart. Really, your memories could very well be at the cause of severe stress."

"Then how do you explain the triggers?"

"Just like triggers for certain behaviors," she shrugged, calmly, "easily explained."

"How am I seeing things that have yet to happen? How have I seen my own birth?" I retorted, with the same level of tranquility in my dark, hoarse voice.

"They could be hallucinations." She leaned forwards, her curls spilling over the tight fabric of her clothing. "Listen, Berwald, you are a level-headed man, one of my best patients, and I don't believe it is right for you to suffer so acutely. Have my sympathy, please, and know that you cannot let these delusions control your way of life!"

I forced my eyes towards the mirror staring at me blatantly, begging it to let me out of this room.


	17. 84

**84.**

Matthias is sixteen. That means I am too. He's sitting next to me while we work on an essay:

"Do you think we could have been brothers?"

"No, Matthias."

"Ahhh come on, don't be so harsh! Can't you consider it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"We would fight."

"We already do."

"We would fight more."

"Do you really hate me that much?"

"I don't hate you."

"You dislike me?"

"No."

"What do you feel about me, then, man?"

"Girls as those sorts of questions."

"Tino asks these sorts of questions."

"Tino is an exception."

"You're being dense."

"I don't care."

"So… See Diana? She's pretty hot."

"I guess."

"What about Lydia?"

"I guess."

"Jessica?"

"I guess."

"Geeez, you really only like guys, then."

"Not guys in general, only Tino."

"That doesn't make sense. Aren't you attracted to certain people?"

"We've discussed this. I like men but right now I only like Tino."

"What a heartthrob…."

I tried to retain the smile pushing through my lips. Despite my distaste for Matthias, he had a way with making people smile.


	18. 83

**83.**

For some time Lukas was not allowed near us. Matthias had three days before rattled his brains and now Lukas usually sat in dark rooms, covering his eyes, and hearing nothing but the sound of his heart thumping bravely in his chest. On the fifth day since his injury, helped with the latest medicine, Emil and I were allowed to enter the room. Matthias refused to come. Even if he had wanted to make amends, Lukas's mother would have bashed his brains out for good.

Emil and I trudged through the silent house, up the winding stairway, and into the room in the far back. The door was tightly shut. I heard music on the other end. I gave small Emil a wary look. Emil did not respond, showing an expression even more stoic than mine.

Lukas's mother trailed behind us and then opened the door, slowly. A rectangle of light cut into the bluish darkness. Thin drapes filtered soft morning glow on to the bed, barely outlining Lukas's face. I approached first, slowly, and then I stopped just short of his bed. The fine chin pointed upwards, then at me. A bandage held Lukas's head together. His eyes were drowsy and distant. I blamed the medication for that.

Emil went up to Lukas and took his hand. The sallow sink clashed with Emil's warm complexion. In all the memories Emil played a role in, entering the stage like a dove only to flit out quickly again, this was the most human his hands looked. Emil pressed his thumbs gently into Lukas's palm. Lukas turned his head away, mumbling something I didn't catch. A tangle of words escaped Emil's lips as well and his eyes glowed with tears. He frowned and let go, letting the dainty hand fall back to the bed.

Lukas bade me to come forth. I did not take his hand. I felt indifferent towards him. I adjusted my glasses and hair, though I knew he didn't care to look my way.

"You act as though I'm dying." Lukas said.

"We missed you." Emil muttered ruefully.

"The way to treat me… I might start believing it." Lukas continued, as though he hadn't heard Lukas. For all I knew he probably didn't. Lukas continued to babble morbidly. I again blamed the medication. "What if that stupid ball did kill me? What a way to go. 'Died by big orange basketball to the brain'."

"Well you didn't die." I interposed.

(not yet)

"I know," Lukas said coldly, "I know. But staying here in the dark I don't have much to do. So I think. I think a whole lot. I've started to think mostly about death, though. I wonder how I will go. Good thing there's no way to tell."

(not for you at least)

"And then I thought about Matthias and you and Emil and Tino…"

Tino? I felt as though my heart jolted to a stop. No. Tino can't die. No. No. No. I stared hard at Lukas, my past and present and future selves tensing and threatening to shatter. I retreated to where Emil was and sat next to him. The pillows had been piled up for his friends to come over. They never did. We were not friends. We were family. We had little choice in our joining. We only knew that our lives somewhere in their paths had knotted together unbreakably. The pillow sagged underneath my rather large body. I clasped my hands between my knees. Lukas still didn't look at us.

"Are you mad at him?" Emil piped up. His voice sounded like it might break. The way his eyes looked you'd have thought the sky was about to crack open.

"At whom?" Lukas asked, eloquently as always.

(this won't be the last time)

"At Matthias," Emil said, gently.

A long silence fell between us. It dropped on our shoulders and on our eyes. I felt sleepy as it went on. The darkness consumed all sounds, even Lukas's occasionally raspy breaths. The silence ate us up, or began to, it tried to, and I was afraid to break it.

"No." Lukas said at last.

"Why not?" Emil said, his cheeks flushing red. "He almost killed you!" Emil trembled with emotion. Later I understood his youth, his inability to understand how the world operate and that it was never "fair" or "just". He wanted to tear Matthias's throat out. I nearly did in the future on several occasions. He wanted revenge. He wanted Matthias to beg forgiveness for his folly. He did not reason. He only felt. Sometimes I want to feel more.

Lukas turned to us this time. I noticed his eyes were closed. His eyelashes fanned out on his smooth cheek bones. He smiled, the boyish, angular features of his face sharpening to look wicked. "I don't forgive him though. I'll get my revenge."

(will you?)


	19. 82

**82.**

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?"

"I—hold on—listen—BERWALD HELP!"

Mauve eyes flicked towards me, wide with fear through a layer of grime. Emil's hand scraped at the dry earth, digging deep ruts. His back arched towards Matthias, who held him by his neck. Emil's fine hair fell below him, casting stringy shadows. Matthias' fingers, thick and knotted from years of training and carrying the heavy equipment he wore on his back, dug into Emil's soft flesh. Droplets of blood trickled through, spotting the sand.

I raised my gun. My muscles moved automatically. I was trained to shoot the uniform Emil wore. I was trained to see the black and dried-blood brown fabrics. I focused the gun at Emil's head, seeing his frantic expression between the cross-hairs.

Matthias raised his head, his tangled hair falling over his face. He had the look of an animal. I pulled the trigger. Emil's scream snapped through the air. He fell with a thump against the ground, causing a puff of dust to rise around him. He coughed and struggled. Matthias' hands, wide open, flinched at the sound. He looked at me.

The bullet dug into the earth an inch away from Emil's head. Emil burst into sobs, clutching his face and trembling. His once cold features were melting, now on fire, now a collision of relief and fear and sorrow I barely understood, yet.

I dropped to my knee and bent towards Emil. I pinched his cheeks and twisted his face to look at me.

"What are you doing?" I hissed.

Emil's teary, red eyes blinked. His breathing came in laboring heaves, as if he had to push a mountain up with his chest only. Blood was running down his lip, coming from his nose. He swiped at it with his sleeve, smearing red across his cheek. He continued to lie on the ground, trembling and weeping in shock. I let go of his cheek.

"Get water." I said.

"What?" Matthias snapped at me, glowering.

"Get water." I repeated.

"Get this bastard traitor water? Are you _insane_?! Do you think we're at home?"

I cut him off warily. "Get him water. He was your friend. He is still your friend. We can't kill him. Besides, he could give us useful information."

Matthias grumbled. He stood and trudged off to the tent. Dawn was breaking. We were alone in the desert, Matthias, Emil, and I. There was one other person, now lying dead several miles away. Her heart had stopped suddenly, her long blond curls spilling from her hat and her unseeing eyes gazing at the pale blue sky. The sun would burn her skin long enough. We had no time to bury her. The vultures would rip her apart soon enough. My heart sagged with the thought. I tried to focus on something different, looking towards the strip of golden light ascending from the horizon.

Matthias returned with a bottle of clear water. Emil still racked with sobs. I pinched his cheeks again and tilted his head back, pouring several drops of water down his throat. He coughed and sputtered, and stopped shaking so horribly. I let go and handed him the bottle. Several drops mixed with blood and dirt hung off his lips.

Squatting down, Matthias and I watched Emil take shallow sip by shallow sip, trying to calm down. My expression softened and I grabbed his shoulder, rubbing it gently. Emil relaxed and sat up, hugging his knees to his chest, where the wings were painted in faint gold: a ghost of a symbol of the enemy force. Emil placed his chin on his knees, exposing his sunburned neck. Flakes of skin had begun to peel off. I wondered where he had been. My memory was foggy. Sometimes I knew only of the future. Now I knew nothing.

"Why are you here?" Berwald asked.

Matthias muttered something crude.

Emil ignored him.

"I ran away."

"Why?" I asked sternly. "You know, if you ran into anyone aside from us you would have been dead."

"I don't know who I am anymore." Emil said solemnly. "For a few years I was certain I was part of the Enemies. That I had to rebel, especially after Lukas… And before that I was certain I was one of you, just a student, just a child. Now I'm confused again. Now I don't know where to turn. I want to _die_. Maybe that's where I need to be. Dead." Emil then burst into a new wave of tears. He took another drink of water and wiped his face, making it dirtier than before.

We remained silent for some time. Occasionally Emil hiccoughed or a bird cawed overhead or Matthias would mumble something. For the most part he remained silent, staring at Emil in pure, childish hatred. I sat on the hard earth. I kept my gun nearby, in case it was a ruse.

I knew it couldn't be. Emil couldn't feign crying. He only cried when he was lost.

"Are you hungry?"

Emil stared at me.

I dug in my backpack, taking a bar of vitamins and carbohydrates, flavored like strawberries, and handed it to Emil. "Eat it." The bar was one of the dozen rationed to us at the beginning of this mission, scouting for hide outs. We had more food inside the tent, but I didn't dare risk leaving Matthias and Emil alone. We weren't children anymore. Matthias could do much worse things than steal a toy or pinch.

Emil devoured it hungrily, allowed the artificial nutrients to fill him up. He finished it and looked at the wrapper, recyclable, environmentally friendly material. He scooped up a handful of dirt and crumpled the paper inside. He raised the handful back up and slowly let each grain trickle back into the hole he made, consuming the wrapper until only a faintly traceable mound remained. I watched him in vague interest. Even at his worst he had a delicate, balanced way to his actions.

"What will you do now?" I asked.

Emil shook his head.

"I don't know."


	20. 81

**81.**

Golden orbs hung in the frozen air. Brush strokes of snow crossed the air, swirling down and piling on the street corners. I held mother's hand tightly. We trundled through the streets. The pallor of her long face was tucked into her scarf, her bright eyes glowing red and orange in the light.

"Come on, let's go." She said.

"Where?" I whined. I wanted to return to summer.

"Home, Berwald," she said sternly.

I sensed urgency in her voice. I knew she had someone she wanted to see. Hot, burning rage and betrayal erupted in my chest. I squeezed her hand in hopes of spite. She squeezed my hand back tenderly, as if I had thanked her for finally taking me home. Wisps of her light hair trailed behind her like feathers.

We stepped on to the metro platform and then into the warmth of a vessel. I sat next to her on the rocking seat. Her bags buried me. I snuffled into the heated seat and stared at the blue streaks of light racing outside the rectangle window. I felt so tired… I shut my eyes, slowly, and opened each hand, letting go slowly and falling asleep. My head tilted to the side, resting on mother's shoulder. Betrayal was forgotten as I submerged in sleep.


	21. 80

**80.**

"Look at the stars."

Tino turned to me, his eyes far pretty than the long-dead celestial bodies hanging overhead in the impenetrable darkness. I smiled at him and kissed his soft lips. He turned his head back, the grass rustling as he moved. Long arks of green curled around his light hair. I curled my hand around his. I felt sleep threaten to drag me down.

"Look at the stars, Berwald!" Tino implored.

So I did.

I choked back a gasp.

Every star hung overhead like a drop of rain frozen in air, glowing from the inside out. The sky was dark and heavy. The stars acting like pins, holding up the night tarpaulin. My fingers tightened around Tino's. I had never seen a sky so beautiful. The world around me vanished.

The moon was a slim crescent. I tried to focus on it, trying to imagine life there. I tried to imagine how the men and women of CRUSADER 78 were. It was the project I had been protecting when it was attacked, the same day Matthias died (two months from this moment? I looked at Tino for an answer) and the same time the rocket sped away from earth, creating a ring of dust around it.

I wondered where they were. I wondered which tunnel of surreal light and joy they were in. I wondered what cold death they experienced. I felt bad. The enemy had caught the base and destroyed any means of communications, proclaiming loudly that MAN IS NOT TO POISON THE REST OF THE UNIVERSE.

Poison…

Man…

Tino…

I looked at him and he kissed me, muttering something about the beauty of stars.

_A white albatross_

_hanging in the great blue sky_

_Another clue_

I forced myself awake and turned to Tino curiously, wondering where the muttered haiku had come from. He was snuggled against me. I didn't want to bother him, so I committed it to memory.

Then, when I thought he had fallen asleep as I was again losing track of time in the skies, he muttered something else, as if having just remembered it.

_A timeless man lost_

_Killing his surreal echoes _

_And wondering why_

My heart in my head stopped. My heart in my chest beat on. On the grass I was slightly confused and wondering where the noise originated. Hanging in the air, I felt woozy. Was the answer to my confusion, to where I truly am and why I experienced life this way with him?

As far as I knew, this was the only reality. Later I began to realize that other people lived life in a linear path… My mind raced, figuring an answer, searching through my memories, finding a glimpse of a path, now upturned…

"Tino?" I whispered, wondering if he fell asleep.

"Hmmm?" He asked, keeping his eyes shut.

"Where did you learn those haiku?"

"Which Haiku…?" Tino asked sleepily, pulling the light blue blanket tighter around us.

"The one you just told me."

"Oh…" Tino didn't respond. I frowned and petted his hair, continuing to stare at the skies.


	22. 79

**79.**

What had I done to deserve her love?

I crouched on the sodden earth, fresh after a rainstorm. I held a cyclamen in my hand, its bright red flowers like paint stains on the dark green grass. My hair was wet and my eyes were dry, but wide and guilty. I stared at the gravestone, where she lay. I set the flower down.

The woman who cheated, the woman who lied, the woman who set up parties to steal father's belongings was also the woman whose kindness spanned galaxies, who would never give up, and the woman who pulled me home from the storm I was entering.

Now my eyes watered. Hot tears fell from my eyes. I bowed my head and tucked the cyclamen into the rain-coated vase. It stood there.

A sad goodbye.


	23. 78

**78.**

I stood in the doorway. My shadow felt long, spilling behind me through the even light filtered through the windows. I clutched the door handle out of fear for what may happen. Matthias stood behind me, clasping a brown bag to his chest. His face was stretched in agony. The paper bag was empty and smeared with blood.

I reached for my cheeks and felt wetness. Fearful that there might be blood there, too, I looked at my fingers. No, they were clean but moist with tears. I looked behind me at Matthias. My mouth split open and I began to scream. The low, guttural, animal sound ripped through my entire being. I crumpled to the ground, clutching the door and trembling. I spit insults at Matthias as if they were spots of venom.

Matthias took it all in. He dropped the bag. It fluttered to the floor. He placed his hands against his mouth and sobbed, screaming too. Blood smeared across his face. I was wrong about the bag. But I barely noticed. A small orb, clear and crystalline, rolled from it and clattered to the floor, shattering.

I was tempted to pick it up. Before I did another hand reached forwards and picked up the scattered shards. Emil was beyond weeping. His eyes were dead.

(this is when he made his decision. His decision of love.)

He cut his fingers while doing it.

"Stop." I told him.

"No." He said.

"Stop." I repeated. I was speaking louder than I usually did. My voice hurt. "Stop." I said again I began to wail that word over and over, pounding my fist into the floor. "Stop, stop, stop…"

Emil did not. He continued to pick up each piece as if he could bring Lukas back. He collected them in his palm, where black blood began to pool.

"I won't stop." He said.

Matthias stood in the ashes of glass.

I looked into the dim room. This was the same room Lukas remained in during his concussion. And, a few years later, the same room he died in. I looked in and saw the pallor of his hand cut into the darkness, draped over his bed. His lanky fingers trailed against the carpet. His eyes stared at me. I would see many dead glares, but his would always follow me.

Blood dribbled down Lukas's nose. My mind was too broken to pick up the fallen pieces. I should have helped Emil then. I had no strength. I could barely figure out where I was and why Matthias was covered in blood half his own half not. I let the orb roll to the floor and break. I let my heart shatter.

Where was Tino?

Footsteps beat down the hallways at the noise. Lukas's mother stormed past us and into the room. A low whimper fell from her. The broken pieces shattered further.

I did not know what to do or what to think. I stared at myself in the reflective pieces of glass by my bare feet. I watched Emil's trembling hands pick them up. The emotion and chaos surrounded my head like smoke. I pressed my forehead to my knees, begging to be free from it. I wrapped my arms around my calves and stayed there until mother came to pick me up. I was old enough to go home alone but she insisted that I was in no state to do so. I would get in an accident while driving, she said.

She offered me warm tea and told me to sleep, to lie down, to relax so later I could think about what happened with a clear head. She was worried. This time of my life began to retract after seeing my reflection, but it took so long. I caught a glimpse of mother lying with her lover as I shuffled into the kitchen for more tea. I saw broken shards of glass when I shut my eyes. My heart was heavy with pain. Pain seemed to be all I knew for a period of time. If I could will my memories, I would still see the pain. I would see it only so I could be happier when joy and splendor greeted me. Like entering a warm room after harsh wind outside.


	24. 77

**77.**

"Berwald, we need to talk."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, approaching the captain.

I shivered in the cold, watching her stern face before me. She was coated in shadow and blood, as was I. The truck rocked slowly, dragging us away from the war zone. I was one of the few who could stay awake long enough to walk around and speak.

I still felt Matthias's blood caked on to my hands.

"You were brave today." She said.

"Thank you, ma'am."

She began to smile. She approached me, her heavy boots stepping closer and closer. They echoed.

Matthias was dead. He had betrayed me. Why didn't I feel that he had deserved this fate? Why would I?

"You've lost so much in such a short time." She said, softly.

I nodded, lowering my gaze. Her name was Miranda Rocks. She was the only person I had now to offer me a smile.

"Will you go home now?"

"Yes."

"Good. I was thinking of doing the same." She placed her hands on her hips, shaking her head slowly. "We've had it hard. I think we've had enough. Hopefully now that the enemies' target is gone they can stop attacking. The ship's long gone. Long gone…"

I heard the pattering of rain against the heavy sides of the truck. It clattered like a bell inside. I chanced a faint grin at the cleanliness of pure rain.

"Can we move on?" I asked, despite myself.

"Can we? What's stopping you?" She asked.

Beneath the layers of dirt her face was almost gentle. Her hair was pulled back tightly behind her cap. Muscles bulged under her jacket. She was the woman I had come to trust these three long years past. The only one to look towards when I was lost: a teacher. A mentor. A path.

"I think I've been hurt too much to love once more." I said at length.

Miranda frowned. "If you don't love then your wounded feelings will develop into hatred. Make the decision of love."

I wanted to argue, but this was the woman who taught me how to shoot a gun. So I remained quiet. I stared at the floor, unfeeling, empty.

She approached me once more and embraced me tightly, smacking my back. "You've done good, Berwald."

She turned away, slinging her cracked gun over her shoulder. She muttered about getting it fixed. Her steps resounded and I was listening to the echoes, wondering why I couldn't move and why my cheeks were wet anew.


	25. 76

**76.**

Now it is dark.

Now I do not know who I am.

Now I can only listen to the surreal echoes.


	26. 75

**75.**

"Why did you do it?"

"Berwald—listen to me."

"No."

"I am your mother, you have to."

"No you are _no longer _my mother. My mother does not cheat."

"Then who is your mother? People cheat. Berwald, you are off to war. How can you go when you think like a child?"

"I trusted you."

"Did I ever cheat on you?"

"You cheated on father."

"Father cheated on me."

"That does not give you permission to cheat on him."

She was silent. Her unrelenting eyes stared into mine. I wondered who was colder.


	27. 74

**74.**

_They say that once there were mountains red and an ice sea around it. The ice, fine like glass, reflected the towers like spilled blood. Creatures surrounded the area too. Flakes of snow of the same color fell on their fine coats and caught in their eyelashes. The land, now unknown and lost to paper and pen, has lost its physical being…._

Lukas paused, raising his head and looking around our group. We sat cross-legged around him. Matthias played with a toothpick between his teeth, but his attention was clearly centered on the small Norwegian. Emil rested his head on Lukas's shoulder, half asleep, the baby of the group.

"Continue!" Tino said, eyes wide.

I sat next to him. I was partially jealous. Why wouldn't his eyes widen in amazement when I spoke? Disgruntled, I turned back to Lukas. Lukas's expression did not change. A shadow of bliss flicked through his eyes.

"Sure, Tino," he said.

He spread the thick book across his lap and continued. He described a world that sprang to life in our minds. Towering trees with ropy vines hanging along them like veins, ancient stones carved by mysterious old monks, women who cast spells in lakes and swamps, witches who could not fly because they had been ousted from their clans…

_Open your mind: let it in. Don't think for a moment that it's not real. Don't destroy the illusion like that… Allow yourself into the timeless zone: another clue… _

Lukas repeated a poem from the bottom of the page. Tino repeated it too, happily committing it to memory. I wanted to squeeze the milky whiteness of his hand. I refrained, holding it all in. So it hurt. So it burned.


	28. 73

**73.**

After our marriage we returned to JoJo Rocks. I held Tino close to me, unable to part with him. I wore a fine white linen suit. I felt Tino's gauzy fabric beneath my palm, a light shade of blue. He had insisted on choosing our clothing. I agreed, admitting to my lack of color coordination. Tino laughed at me, the sweetest sound I knew.

Memories of the past few months were vivid in my head. Maybe the concentrated pleasure had congealed them so that even as I leapt from time to time I still retained a sense of who I was and what I was.

We approached JoJo Rocks' dressing room. Tino approached her, leaving my grasp. She stood near the armoire, grinning. "Hello," she said sweetly.

"Hello." Tino responded, holding out his hand.

She shook it firmly, her large hand bejeweled. Tino was nearly a foot shorter than her. She wore a glittering short black dress with a part at her hip, exposing a long, slender thigh clamped in thin tights. Her feet were bare, exposing bright yellow toenails. Tino seemed immersed in her presence. The familiar tang of jealousy and resentment threatened to control my mind. I denied it entrance.

"Baby, honey, I'm so happy it all turned out well. And to think it's all because of me!" JoJo said, throwing her head back and laughing. Her massive chest rose and fell.

"Oh I'm so thankful for it too!" Tino implored.

For a moment I wondered what it would have been like to marry a woman. Tino was feminine, but still a man. I was attracted to him and only him. I dismissed the thought and watched as they discussed the wedding. JoJo was excited for us. She insisted that she be the Godmother to our children.

Children…?

I frowned warily.

No.

Tino looked at me. Had I spoken aloud? I felt faint. I had seen the future. I had seen the present. For the first time my physical body was conscious of my timelessness.

"Do you need something to sit on, baby?" JoJo asked.

"What…?" I tried not to look at the mirror. I tried to contain the happiness as long as I could. And yet, as though pulled by some invisible force, I looked towards the mirror.

And then something interesting happened. It all faded to black.

I felt as though I had entered a chamber, devoid of light and feeling. I felt isolated and terribly, painfully alone. I could still hear the dim resounding voices of Tino and JoJo. But like drifting clouds they soon evaporated.

It all happened too quickly. I wanted to give up. I wanted to stop this all and live properly. Of course, I couldn't.

Instead, to cope with the pressure, I listened to their voices and heard them saying tha


	29. 72

**72.**

"Peter, this isn't a choice, you have to eat it!"

The woman waved the spoonful of baby food before Peter's pudgy face. Peter frowned and wailed, turning his head to the side. His bright blue eyes squinted, glaring off towards me. I offered him a gentle smile. She looked at me, startled enough to drop the spoon. However, she held it firmly. Her forearm muscles rippled. I approached her.

"I'll take over from here, Liz, thank you for your help." I said gently.

My voice was softer than before. This was after the betrayal, after the war.

"Don't thank me, I adore children!" Elizaveta said, smiling.

Her thickly curled hair was pulled back away from her broad, pretty face. She wore a simple outfit with a beige cardigan and blue pants. It suited her firm body. She embraced me, throwing her arms up and around my neck. She was warm to my cold hands. I embraced her back and she retreated towards the corner of the room.

I took the red scarf from my neck and hung it up, watching as Elizaveta dug around her red leather purse. She dug in its bulging contents and picked up a tiny notepad and a pen. She scribbled a number on to the front and stuck it to the counter. A gem glittered on her finger.

"I got a new number. Call me there if you need anything." She said warmly.

"Married?" I asked.

She nodded.

"To whom I'm thinking of…?"

She nodded again, this time with a beaming expression. She approached Peter and ruffled the tuft of hair along his head. He gurgled and reached for her finger. He grabbed the long, brown digit and shook it. She laughed.

"Eat the food, not my hand, Pete." She said gently.

He wailed again. As promised, I took over. I heard Elizaveta shut the door as I crouched before Peter, collecting a chunk of the light green vegetable mash his mother made him. I fed it to him. He gummed it, his bright eyes staring at me.

"Father's home," I said. "I know you love Eliza, but you have to give me some attention huh?"

Peter giggled as I fed him more. His mother could actually make a descent bowl of baby food when she wanted. As for adult food… I felt dismayed and jealous of Peter.

"How's my little sailor boy doing?" I asked.

Peter, being only barely over a year old, didn't respond. He sucked on the soft material surrounding the spoon, grasping the handle. He shook it. I could see my reflection in his eyes. I saw an old man.

Not that old, maybe older than most men when they have their first child, but not as young as I once was. I saw my hair thinning, I saw my eyes losing their vigor, and I saw war scars I once spent hours trying in vain to hide. Now I didn't flaunt them or hide them: I simply let them rest. My faults were my own. Why should anyone else care?

I saw a strong man.

But I also saw an exhausted one.

The timeless man that stared to me seemed to say _it's all ok now_

Was it?

Peter wondered why I had stopped feeding him and began to howl. I quickly plopped another wallop of food into his open mouth. He hungrily licked it up. I placed a toy duck on the circular table before him. He picked it up and began to play with it, no doubt making up some amazing misadventure for Mr. Duck to go on.

The door swung open again and Peter's mother walked in. She looked at me from below her hat dusted in fine snow. She smiled.

"Looks like someone beat me home." She said proudly.

"I try."

"How's my little man?" She asked. She placed her jacket and scarf on top of my own. The ghosts still lived where Tino was no longer, but she had made a new place in my heart that I couldn't have been more thankful for.

She walked towards me, her powerful eyes flicking over my withered visage and then sweeping towards Peter. She gobbled him up.

"So handsome," she said, "just like his father."

Miranda kissed my cheek and then Peter's head. She sighed, straightening up. I saw the fatigue of war and life on her, too. She had lost someone like I had. She left me there next to Peter. I played with Mr. Duck along with him until Miranda called me to dinner and then we set Peter to sleep.

For once, there was peace.

* * *

_Before you remind me that Berwald is in canon homosexual, be patient, wait for the rest of the story, and pay attention to diction. Thank you._


	30. 71

**71.**

The sea: the stories spilled into my head. Images on books swam before my eyes. I saw the froth at the light blue curves. I saw the soft yellow sand. I saw the sun setting and staining the world a warm, deep orange.

And yet what I really saw was desert. I held my gun in my hand, peering through the flat of my tents. I was drafted for the first time. Before the betrayal. Before Peter. Before I had a reason to hate. I stared at the edge of my bed. Cartridges poised along the base, waiting to be used or put away.

In the bunk next to mine I saw Matthias fast asleep. His large feet poked through the sheets, the fingers curling and uncurling periodically. I saw scars along the sole and the ankle. I began to wonder where they came from.

My mind turned back to the desert. Through the triangular strip between beige tarpaulins I could see an artificial purple light. It blinked a few times, and then stopped. Again it blinked before flickered back to the dull afternoon sky. Clouds drifted overhead, dry.

"All right new recruits!" I heard Miranda shout outside of the tent. A rumble of footsteps followed. "For today we will scout the area. If you see ANYTHING unusual, report to me or any superior at once! Do you hear me?"

"YES, CAPTAIN!"

The resounding echo filled the desert. Matthias didn't even move.

Our team had gotten back several hours ago. Yet I didn't have the heart to sleep. A meal would be served to us in a few hours. Maybe afterwards I could nap. I considered this to be the best motive.

For now I leaned over the makeshift bunk and dug through my army bag. Inside I saw a white corner peeking out. I frowned. How had Tino's picture gotten there? I plucked it out. It was different from the one I kept inside my jacket. This one was of myself and Tino standing on top of a building. Tino's hands were upwards and his mouth opened in a laugh.

I was smiling vaguely in the picture. My arm was strung around Tino's small waist, pulling him closer. We seemed content. Behind us an array of colors streaked the night sky. I remembered this being on one of our first dates. I was younger here.

On the back of the picture Tino's scrunched handwriting said:

_We have two copies of this picture. I hold my own dear to my heart. Every time I saw its sister I longed for you to have it. It means so much to me. So here, hold on to it, and if you ever forget how beautiful the world is when you protect the site, just take a look. _

_Love, Tino_

I felt a warm smile spread across my lips.

For now we didn't have much work to do. My team protected the base at night, making sure the enemies whose name changed ever few days: once it was the Void, once it was the Anti-Movement, and at some point in the distant past it was simply Reality. They were fancy for all their lack of strife.

I ran my thumb over the glossy paper. The rocket would launch soon, but it may take a few years they said. I witnessed the crew exercising in the open field protected by hundreds of men and thick fences.

At the time I didn't realize, not even with the melancholy desert and pensive sand, just how important this mission was. Or why I had to protect it with my life.

Sometimes I still don't understand.

"Good morning, Elder Berry," Someone called to me by an old nickname.

I found that the other man in the tent had woken up. Sleepy-eyed he hung half off the bed, one hand dragging to the floor. Matthias still slept like the dead.

"Morning Hiss," I said, using his pet name.

"You make me seem like a snake," he responded, yawning widely. He had loose, thick black hair and well-defined eyebrows. His lips were smooth and his eyelids curved, perfect crescents. I often admired his beauty and his naturally confident ego.

"That's what you seem like sometimes, Amahissen," I said, using his full name this time.

Hiss offered me a bemused smile. "You know, Elder, last night I was reading."

"When aren't you?"

Hiss shrugged.

I remembered how on duty (and for some reason my memory of the past day was the only solid one I could reach then) he had hidden behind one of the walls and shirked his work, immersed in a tightly bound leather book.

He went back on duty every so often, reading when he could.

Amahissen was a hard worker, despite his arrogance.

"They let me get away with it. Guess it's my razor-sharp good looks." He said with a cheeky grin.

I frowned.

"Go on."

"Oh, the ever so stern Berwald O. He always wants to get right back on task." Hiss shook his head.

I tried to seem nonplussed. He was too similar to Matthias, probably why the two rarely got along. And yet I found myself grinning. Hiss sat up on his bed and rubbed his eyes, stretching. He slipped out of bed as he spoke, collecting his clothing and food tokens.

"The book I read was written by the enemies' founder." He said.

"You shouldn't be reading that." I snapped despite my apprehension.

"Well, I did anyway, so get over it." Hiss said leisurely, but I could sense the bitter annoyance in his voice. "And in it the guy, who kept calling himself Founder of Nothing, odd name, was saying why he did all this. At first I read it to be a rebellious twerp. Then I began to get immersed. You know, they _are _people too. They have motives and needs and a faith."

"What was their motive, then?" I asked.

I watched him tie his boots up. His fingers sagged with fatigue. Like me he was probably planning on eating and then returning to sleep until our shift began. Newcomers often scowled with jealousy when they heard of us or saw us pass. If only they knew how much a bad sleep schedule hurt the body.

"Their motive is that man is supposed to die on earth and not go up and 'poison' the rest of the world. Also, they always spelled Earth with a capital letter. That's strange, isn't it? We grow up believing that earth is only a transition vessel, like our bodies. In a few years it'll be gone and we move on, end of story. But they apparently come from an older people, or their ideas do, and they think that where we are, including our mortal bodies, is supposed to be as it is. That we shouldn't change it." Hiss pushed back his long strands of hair and tucked them behind his ears. A gem glittered on the top corner of his left ear. He must have told me its origin once…

"Interesting, isn't it?" he asked when I didn't comment.

I nodded mutely.

Something about this information felt familiar, almost too familiar. I dug around in my army sack as Hiss made several notes on a pile of paper. I pulled out a small mirror Tino had given me and I inspected my appearance. I looked like a mess. No wonder Hiss cracked a grin whenever he turned my way. I shot him a glare and proceeding to fix my bird-nest like hair.

Funny how misery makes friends, I thought, watching my reflection.

* * *

_Wow you guys are supportive and awesome! Keep those wonderful reviews coming. Thank you so much._


	31. 70

**70.**

This time I was not in my own body. This time I was far from it. In fact, I was several _planets_ away from it. I had not experienced this before. My body abstractly stood in a corner of a dimly lit, pale room. Like a ghost, I surveyed a couple discussing before me. My presence could move at my free will.

I walked, or drifted, I'm not sure, towards the door behind the discussing couple. The door was slit open and on the other side I saw two children playing with toy soldiers. Behind them the window was thrown open. I could see the red sun bleeding into a greenish sky. I felt sick. Where was I? I retracted from the room and approached the couple.

"Look, we left earth when the enemies attacked, right? How long ago was that?" the woman with her curly brown hair pinned to the top of her head asked. Her big eyes blinked curiously.

The man across from her, his black hair spiked, bit his lip. He pondered. "In earth time or our time?"

"Right, we have one more month. How long has it been in_ their_ time?"

"It's been about one hundred three years."

I must be dead by now. That's strange, after death I always was in a state of vibrating nothingness. And now I could experience the future. I listened in on their conversation, hoping for a reason I lived the way I did.

"Oh that's not too long," she shook her head.

"I guess not."

"Well," she stood up, swinging a drooping handbag over her shoulder. "I'm going to get some food. Watch after Jacob and Molly, would you?"

"Sure thing," he said. They exchanged a kiss and she left.

How could they speak so bluntly about the serious matter and then dismiss it as if they had discussed the weather? How could they neglect their own people? I felt rage bubbling inside of me. Before I could consider this anymore, I felt a jolt at my stomach and I whirled into a different time again. And I could feel it.


	32. 69

**69.**

I held Tino in my arms. The evening painted the streets gold and the sky was in a calm light blue hue. Tino snuggled up to me, staring across our front yard. Children played in the streets, yelling happily.

"Would you be a father…?" Tino whispered.

"For you, yes."

"For anyone else?"

I did not respond. Not because I had no response, but because I thought it was painfully obvious at the time: I would belong only to Tino. How could I be with anyone else?


	33. 68

**68.**

Her glassy eyes stared towards the desert sky. I crouched over her, feeling sorrow stab at my chest. I gently pushed her eyes closed and with a prod to her chin, closed it. Matthias stood behind me, swinging the gun over his back. He placed his arms at his sides. I could tell he was worried.

I stood.

"We better get going."

Matthias nodded mutely.

I turned away and began packing. We had little to move. I set my gun aside and tucked a dagger into my belt. Then I folded our tent and stuffed it into the army bag. That was it. Matthias picked up the supplies. We moved on.

And yet my mind remained back there as I traveled. I still hovered over her body. She had the night before dropped dead. I assumed then it was a heart attack. Yet, that didn't feel right… When I looked at her still living eyes I saw a trace of horror. Mixed with horror was consent. Something must have happened. Something not normal must have plagued her bodies. It could be with us now. I looked at Matthias. His stern, rectangular face didn't move to meet my gaze.

Like this, in grudging silence, we walked for several miles. The horizon only seemed to expand. And, for the first time in a very long time during my second drafting, I began to admire the desert again. I admire the sparking sea of sand, the worn sun beating down incessantly.

I felt free, and lost. The feelings often come together, I realized, staring at the footprints Matthias left behind. Puffs of sand flew as his heels left the ground.

"Is this a good place to stop?" Matthias said, turning to me abruptly.

I surveyed the landscape. A dim psychedelic tone fluttered in the vague distance. Nothing to worry about, I concluded. We set up camp and sat before it. There was still a long way for our crew, now a duo, to go. We had to infiltrate the enemies, at least when we met up with the thirteen other crews employed. Captain said it would be a good way to sneak up on them. If several teams progressed towards it, it would seem more like scouting troops rather than a disjointed army. I did not know then that I would not fight in war until my third and final drafting.

"Should I send a signal?" Matthias asked gruffly. He had lost his previous humor. I joked internally that he had finally been tamed.

"Go ahead."

Matthias dug around his pack until he found a radio. He pressed the top button and spoke into it. "Scouting area number seven, scouting area number seven has been reached. Seven."

He shut it off. We tensely waited for a response.

The radio cackled and Amahissen's voice burst through the other end. "Good on you, Matthias, you learned how to count."

Matthias restrained a smile.

He pressed the button.

"Very funny, Hiss, where are you?"

Static gurgled.

"We're left number six, you're a step ahead of us. We will be at seven in an hour or so."

Static stopped.

"Good, over and out," Matthias said stoically and tucked the radio away.

We remained in silence. Matthias picked up his water bottle and took a sip.

"When should we keep moving?" I asked.

"When Hiss tells us he reached seven, we'll ask the rest of the crews in the area where they are. Then we move. Let's rest for now."

I nodded. I had known the answer, of course, but Matthias needed to be prompted to speak lately. I worried for him more than I cared to admit. Combat had brought us closer together than I ever thought it would. I took a drink of water. The desert had sapped most of my strength. I stared at the shade of the tent, my eyes burning from the reflective sand and the unforgiving sun.

Leaning into a storage unit Matthias had carried to count our supplies, I began to mumble about how this plan seemed doomed. Matthias began to counter me but stopped short.

We heard a scuffling.

I tensed and Matthias and I neared the lip of the tent. The scuffling, undeniably of feet on sand, continued. A shadow spilled over our tent. Matthias grabbed his gun and exited the tent. I followed shortly.

A figure had appeared before us, coming close. Matthias didn't even bother stopping to examine the face. He saw the gold wings. He knew what it meant. He pounced on the enemy, slamming the thin figure to the ground. A scream choked from him. Matthias crouched on the enemy, a mite compared to him.

"What are you doing here you ene…" Matthias stopped. His eyes widened.

I approached and saw who it was. Our old friend, beautiful Emil, was prostrate on the ground. Matthias had recognized him. He raised a fist and jabbed Emil. Blood sprayed from his mouth.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?"

"I—hold on—listen—BERWALD HELP!"


	34. 67

**67.**

"Tell me you love me."

"How can I?"

"Please, Berwald, anything… Anything you've ever read. Anything you've ever seen. Tell me how much you love me."

"Where can I even begin?"

"I know it's selfish but—"

"No, don't worry, I know what to say."

"Go ahead then."

"My love for you is so that I would rinse the sky clean of stars. Once empty I'll put in brilliant, glorious gems that outshine the previous with greater, grander light. I'd point up to them with you in my arms and I'll whisper that you are still more beautiful than they are."

"Did you make that up?"

I did not respond.

* * *

_This will sound horribly pretentious, I know. But reviews? How can I improve during this rather lengthy story if I don't know what you like or dislike? Who do you want more of? What is especially unexplained or strange? This isn't a novel, the reader can talk directly to the writer. And I'm sorry, you don't have to or anything. It would simply offer me plenty of help. Thank you! _


	35. 66

**66.**

The child stared through me. His eyes, wide, were angling directly away from me. His dark hair was matted to the side of his head. Water, that seemed frigid, trailed down his jaw—which was thick and had the makings of a rectangular face when he would grow. If he would grow. I cowed, even though I knew no one in the dim room could see me. The blinds allowed strips of light to seep into the room, coating the boy. His striped form receded deeper into the wall.

"Did you break it?"

The boy shook his head.

I noticed his fingers were trailing blood along the ground. Shattered bits of glass were scattered around him like debris after some storm. He raised his hands to his chest and pressed his wounded fingers.

"Why did you break it?" The voice that questioned him now was gentle. I didn't trust it. I wanted to leap before the boy and protect him, to spread my arms out and defy the man before him. I couldn't. I was as helpless as he was.

A man stepped into my vision. I had trouble twisting my vision around the room. I could only stare at the boy. But I moved forwards as well, along with the man's thudding steps. The boy still didn't notice me. He began to sob.

"I didn't break it, father," the boy mumbled.

"You liar." The man whispered. "You dirty liar. I thought I raised you better. I thought you wouldn't lie to me, your own father. You wouldn't lie to someone who fed you, clothed you, put up a damned roof over your precious head. You wouldn't _dare_ spit those stupid excuses over my way." The man dropped before the boy. His large hand hovered over the boy's head. He pressed into the wet locks and turned his fingers up. They were wet with blood and water. The shattered glass lay victim around the boy.

The boy mumbled.

"I didn't catch that!" The man said harshly.

"It fell, father," the boy repeated.

"Oh! Ha! I see." The man stood, his chest heaving with laughter.

I pushed my vision up as far as it could go. I looked at his eyes. They did not twinkle. The man feigned his laughter. He intended to make the boy hurt. As far as I could tell, it worked. The boy winced and chewed on his bottom lip. He probably wondered if he could eat himself to death. He wanted nothing more than to escape the constricting fear: to breathe.

The man crouched down again. He pinched the boy's cheeks and tugged him forwards. The boy couldn't resist. He stared. I saw a glimmer of defiance. The boy would not lose. Sure, now he would hurt, now he would suffer, now he would hurt. But that won't last long. The moment he escaped the net he could swim in the ocean, free of all fear.

And then something struck me. I tried to look through the windows. I peered towards the sky. Before I could look at it my vision snapped back to the man and his son. The man was whispered in a grating, painful way.

"Oh, so you think that things fall on their own? Did it just topple over? Did it just decide I don't want any of this shit and fell? What kind of stupid logic is that, kid?" He didn't let go of the boy's cheeks. I saw red tinting the soft flesh around the man's dirty thumbs. "Explain that, boy. Some foolish person, not, some foolish_ beast_ must have run into it and caused it to crash."

"I hit it on accident." The boy said.

"You hit it on accident, _father_."

"I didn't know I was your father." The boy regretted that decision at once. The man let go of his cheeks and cuffed his head. The boy spiraled to the ground, a wound bursting open on the side of his head. He remained prostrate on the ground, clutching the wounds, his head spinning.

"Do you know _why_ I'm so mad?" The man said.

The boy shook his head.

"You woke me up. I work day in and day out to provide for you and that whore you call your mother. And I…" The man stopped. He remained silent for some time.

The boy still trembled, holding back sobs. He tried to be strong. I saw his muscles tensing and his eyes flaming with rage.

I took this chance to look out the window. Like I had suspected, driven by sheer instinct, the sky was different. It was another color, a darker, fuller color than any I had known. It was subtle, it was vague, but it was something.

The man was trembling. I couldn't see his face. Something like mist in my vision obscured it. Though I thought I had seen a sense of overwhelming guilt. The man dug in his pockets and pulled out a few notes of men. He threw them at the ground and stalked out the room.

"I'm sorry, son." He whispered.

I could still hear his voice in the hallway, muttering a restricted apology.

"What have I done…?"

The boy refused to look at the money.

I remained a spirit in the room, watching as the boy began to crawl towards a small box tucked beneath a couch. He pulled from it a bandage and began to mend his wounds. His actions were deliberate. He must have been eleven or twelve years old. I couldn't look at his eyes. My heart sagged in my chest. No cruelty to this extent was unwarranted.

The boy looked like I did at that age. He had the same colored eyes and the same shape of his nose. He was pensive and slow, just like I was. He wasn't me, his hair was too dark and his wrists too thing. Besides, if he was me then I should have been within his body and I should have felt the blows first hand. And my father never struck me.

Then, I froze. I knew who this boy was.

I had gone to the past.

This boy was my father.

* * *

_Thank you very much for your reviews! I will take them into account. And don't hesitate to mention something you find, whether it's good or bad. Again, I'm sorry for bothering you with this. _


	36. 65

**65.**

The city does not sleep

So I don't either


	37. 64

**64.**

"Cheers for our victory!" Hiss said, raising his glass. The liquor inside glistened. I held my glass up to him too. His grin expanded. We had yet to win, and he was determined to do it.

It was my third drafting.

We were ready to win.


	38. 63

**63.**

"Dad? He doesn't know jack-shit about this, you hear?" Peter's voice crept through the halls. I was tempted to run in and slap him for his dirty vocabulary.

Miranda grabbed my arm before I could move. Her fingers curled around my thick forearm and her eyes, hardened by war, bore into mine. She shook her head silently. 'Why not?' I mouthed. She tugged me back and I followed. 'Listen.' She mouthed back.

So I did.

And I learned a lot.

Peter, nearly seventeen, spoke to his sister who was his junior of three years. She listened intently, I assumed, though I couldn't look through walls. Miranda held on to me, her forehead resting against my shoulder. I rubbed her back.

"Why do you hate him?" Helen asked. Her voice was high pitched with curiosity and worry.

"I do not hate him," Peter said. Then he lowered his voice, so we could no longer hear his words. They slipped from him, poised with venom. My muscles must have flexed because Miranda pulled me back, shaking her head fiercely.

Helen paused. I could imagine her contemplating in her slow, wide-eyed way. "You mean…?"

"Yeah, you got it." Peter laughed.

I turned back to Miranda who shrugged simply and told me to step away. "Let's go eat out tonight." She said. Her instincts were keen. I knew better than to doubt them. I nodded.

And Peter lived another day.


	39. 62

**62.**

"Ok, so let's slow down and go over what we know."

I raised my chin so I could meet her eyes. The therapist still sat across for me. Little had changed since I had last seen the office. Her fingers were laced and on her desk. Something in her eyes showed reluctant belief of what I had been telling her. What had I been telling her, on that matter? I tried to compose myself.

"We know that you were born in our new era, you and your parents got along fairly well?"

"Mostly well," I said with a shrug.

"Yes, and they would host parties. Your problem could stem from the infidelity you witnessed."

"Maybe."

"Your life at school was average. You hd good friends, some traumatic events did occur, such as the loss of Lukas, and the grief Matthias went through. Otherwise you weren't bullied often?"

I considered it. A cup of tea sat in my hand. I curled my fingers around the smooth glass. What warmth remained seeped into my fingers. I took a sip.

"No, I was a big kid."

"Did your size influence your desire to join the army?"

"No, I believed in the cause to get the men and women into space. I wanted to help any way I could. I was about to join the team, but they needed those with experience. And they had so little time. I ended up joining the army instead, to protect them."

"But you don't remember any time in your life when everything seemed to flow smoothly?"

"No."

"Then I'll cross of PTSD." She picked up a pen and scratched her papers before her. A hefty pile had collected next to her. Like leaves in autumn.

I waited for her next proposal, taking another small sip. My stomach was not feeling well. Did I eat something bad? I didn't recall. I avoided looking at the mirror. I wanted to try and learn from the woman, what she could offer that I didn't know.

She collected her thoughts. I waited. I forced my gaze away from her.

"OK, so if it didn't start then, the death of your husband, the new marriage, the two children, and then…" She paused. "Is your wife, Miranda, with you?"

I shook my head.

Her eyes lit up at once. "I saw you hesitate."

"That's because I did."

"Why?"

"I don't remember her coming with me, but I have a distinct feeling that she did not."

She nodded vigorously, scrawling new notes. Her tongue poked out from between her lips. The clock continued to pound. My head swam in pain. I looked away, out the window.

Something was wrong with the sky…

It was pink, reddish at the corners of the windows.

"How old am I?" I asked.

She ruffled through the papers, finding my medical file.

"Seventy eight." She said.

I stared at her. "Is that true?"

"That's what the file says." The doctor insisted with a curt nod of her head.

"But… That's wrong. I know it is."

She grinned bigger. My eyes were pulled to the mirror again, before I could stop. I knew something had changed. She knew the answer. If only I could stay. No, please no don't


	40. 61

**61.**

I held an umbrella over Tino's head. Rainwater thudded against the thick plastic, popping off with warm, humid clacks. Tino looked towards me, frowning.

"I'll be fine." I insisted, lowering my head so I was out of the rain.

Tino shook his head. "I know you will, you've been in the desert at night. You've seen far worse, I know, I know…"

"Then what is it?"

I shifted so that I could catch the pearls of rain more thoroughly. Tino didn't enjoy the cold and, from the way he saddled tup to me, he appeared grateful. Our bus was still not there. Reds and blues and oranges of the city pooled in the slick streets. Cars roamed by. An odd stranger passed with an umbrella or briefcase over their head. They spared us no looks. I checked my watch.

Tino appeared annoyed and exaggerated his look which I knew meant _I am not well can't you see? _His eyes were shifty and turned away from mine. His lips were pressed into a flat, white line, and his crossed arms hugged his body.

Sighing, "What is it?"

"I'm jealous." Tino said softly. "I hate this feeling."

"You're jealous? Of whom?"

"Oh you know…" Tino guiltily looked away from me.

I rubbed his shoulder. "Tell me."

"Ever so stiff I see." He finally relaxed his arms and dug his hands into his pockets. I caught his ring gleaming in the sharp light from an overhead orb of gold. Rain pierced the street lamp's aura, as if it was stealing drops of light. "I'm jealous of your captain."

"What did Miranda do?" I was baffled. Something in my mind made a connection, vaguely.

Uncomfortably, Tino explained. By the time he was done the bus had pulled towards us. "Well, I think that she's better for you. She's stronger, kinder, nicer, and she can match your personality well. She's a powerful woman, I can tell. She gets what she wants. She insists on her rule. She's persuasive. She's beautiful. You also speak comfortably with her. The way you talk to her is not like how you speak with me, not at all. Sometimes, when you talk to her over the phone and turn to me, I can feel something. It's this coldness that I didn't know you had, especially towards me. It's almost like you regret my company. There I go, ranting and feeling bad for myself."

We boarded the bus and went into the back seats. I folded the umbrella and tucked it behind me. Tino sat a distance from me as I mulled over the information. The only other passenger was a large woman with a nest of gray hair and a thick parka wrapped around her. Quiet jazz music enveloped the room, congealing with the rain. I leaned over and placed a warm kiss on his cheek.

"I married you, didn't I?"

He nodded.

I did too. We settled into the seats and I nearly fell asleep to the bobbing bus and the trickle of piano notes.


	41. 60

**60.**

_Warning: vulgar vocabulary approaching_

The television was on, focused on a dead channel. Its postmortem howls, its static wail, and the block of colorless friction only served to annoy Miranda further. She curled her fingers into a fist and slammed it on the top of the clunky hunk of technology.

"It won't work." I told her.

She glared at me over her shoulder. My heart sagged in my chest. An image of Tino appeared in my mind. I tried not to imagine him there. But the vision remained stubborn. He would not have glared or thwacked. He would have submitted to fate, shrugging it off and turning away. Then he would have found something else to do, entertaining both of us at once and laughing.

Why did I want Tino when I had Miranda? Why had I wanted Miranda when I had Tino?

"It _will _work." Miranda insisted and flicked the screen. She frowned and stood, bending over the set and peering at the nest of cables behind it. She reached down and fumbled.

Peter and Helen sat next to me on the couch. Helen held a mug of tea between her thin hands. Her eyes stared weakly ahead. I noticed how exhausted she was. Why didn't I do anything? I knew how it would end, shadows stretched long down a hallway, swinging… Peter reclined on the couch, one arm slung over the back and the fingers fidgeting with a blanket, once his favorite.

"Mother," Helen said softly, "Maybe you lost a wire or something? Or maybe the weather is bad…" She glanced towards the curtained windows.

It was cold. But no wind howled and no snow fell.

"What the fucking hell do you want to fucking show us?" Peter spat. "Is it that home video you showed us? Well I don't fucking want to _fucking goddamn look at it._"

Helen winced. I lightly cuffed the side of his head.

"Watch your language." I commanded.

He shot me a scowl. He was a year shy of becoming an adult. Why should he take orders from a veteran like me? I knew why. I could whip him into shape.

I could if I had Tino to motivate me.

In the years with Miranda we both had become lazy. I noticed her stomach sag, from childbirth she insisted, and I noticed the small curves of skin dipping beneath her chin, and the puddles of fat on her cheeks. I noticed and I said nothing. I know she would point out what I had become, the flabby muscles, the inability to stay fit even though I wanted to desperately.

And yet in the war she had made me go on. She had told me to fight after, before, during, and because of Matthias. Had she failed? I loved her. She loved me. And the worry that it wasn't enough drenched this period. I focused back on this moment in time, watching as Miranda shot Peter a hurt, enraged look.

"Why don't you want to see it?" she asked. I could feel the pain in her voice.

"It's probably some dumb shit." Peter said. Helen looked away from him.

"Have you seen the video?"

"No, but you told me it's a project you did before you went to the army or whatever."

"You are a crass young man, my boy."

She never called Peter her son. She didn't see fit to lie. They didn't get along well, Peter and her. Helen didn't want to get along with anyone. I wanted a fit family. I had assumed that Peter, having been adopted so young, would have considered Miranda his true mother.

The memory I tried to find was murky. I didn't know where exactly the boy came from. At least I knew that Helen was my kin, that I had witnessed her birth…

"Oh fucking hell." Peter said, laughing.

"This is your final chance to stop swearing in this house." Miranda stood up.

Peter recoiled, slightly. But he jumped back into his seemingly confident young man act. "Why? You were in an army. You should have heard it every waking moment."

"You know nothing of combat."

"Can I leave?" Peter asked.

Miranda smiled. She won.

She thought.

"No you'll stay here." I interposed. Peter looked towards me. He was fonder of me than of Miranda. Maybe it was because I looked like I truly could be his father.

"Aunt JoJo will come tomorrow, right?" Helen asked, shoving the uncomfortable quarrel away.

Miranda nodded. "Yes, be on your best behavior."

JoJo had lost her charm. Miss JoJo Rocks, most beautiful woman, broad shoulders down to narrow hips, heavy bosom, full voice, psychedelic tones in her hair, bright eyes. Now, settled JoJo, but miserable. Found the wrong man. She insists her soul mate waits somewhere. She had lost her previous boyfriend, the one who loved her despite everything, who had once been her childhood best friend who threw rocks at birds and did boy things JoJo never liked.

Now she was with a different man.

A man she lied to.

A man she had to hide her past from, with a thin veil and a cheek turned the other way. She had to hide the stitches with make up, though it burned. He waited for a child. None came. He got mad. He hit her. He beat her. He screamed. She wept and tried to hide, to curl into a hole. Miranda could save her. Now she was with us.

Now she

Now

Now….?

The burst of knowledge was almost sweet from its bliss. It had vanished and the image before me was fading. Peter liked JoJo and seemed content at her arrival. I couldn't see their faces. I tried to force myself there, but then something happened. Peter's look of content shifted, turning into a frown, two an uneven lip of contempt. I was changing something. I stopped trying to swim upstream and watched Peter relax again and ask questions, what will JoJo bring? Would she sing? Could he show her off as his hot aunt—jokingly. Miranda even laughed.

I left.

A cold thought struck me.

They were happier without me.

And:

I could change the past?


	42. 59

**59.**

It's now or never, I thought. I sat in the back of the class, watching as a pious general flicked through the screens describing the procedure with an almost hysterical devotion. He hollered out a chemical equation, raising his pointer and thrusting it at the image depicting several hexagons.

"THIS CHEMICAL RUNS THE SHIP!" he barked. "You are to protect it."

Standing still next to me, Matthias scoffed. "Well I won't forget that anytime soon."

I did not respond to him. I thought his action to be juvenile.

"Damned bastard probably has a pole stuck up his—"

I violently shoved him with my elbow. He fell silent and turned away from me, staring at the next screen. I felt Peter's ghost next to me, semiconscious of what I felt. Peter will never met Matthias. He never would have gathered his foul language from him.

So where…?

The portrait of a woman's face lit up on the screen. She grinned at the crowd, her eyes crinkled and fallen behind shade. Her teeth were large, protruding from under her rosy lips. Freckles were strewn across her cheeks. Her hair flew across her face in ironed-flat blonde streaks. I couldn't tell the color of her eyes.

Beneath her a name was printed: Hana Fiore.

I felt I knew her.

"This is the leader of Team AC, they will be on the ground and preparing the crew to go aboard." Another voice spoke up. I saw a woman in the corner of the room in a heavy suit. She stood militant, surveying us with even black eyes. She walked towards the center and flashed a smile. Her hair was black as soot, nearly melting with the darkness. "When you see here you will be polite and you will respect her orders. Is that clear?"

"Yes ma'am!" came the response.

She nodded at them and stepped away. The general stepped forwards, taking her place.

"Thank you Miss Nakano."

Matthias leaned towards me again. "She's a babe."

"She can break you without even brushing past you." A man next to him hissed.

"You know," another interjected, "I was fairly certain that as a society we had gone past objectifying people, especially women."

Matthias scoffed. "I was making a joke. Right, Ber?"

I frowned.

"No, Matthias, be quiet."

He turned away, his eyes like a stormy sea.

"Does any one of you yapping men know what the purpose of this mission is?" Nakano snapped next to us. She looked past me and at the three who had continued to quarrel. The heady woman had heard them.

The one who had spoken second, scrawny and with an overly large nose, turned towards her. "Yes miss."

"I know you do, Parker, but what about you two?"

She regarded Matthias and the other man, with smooth black hair and dark brows. Had Peter been born then, or had I known him or Miranda then—I would meet her the following week, that much I knew—he would have been worshiped.

The man grinned. "Now, miss, of course I do. I listen very well. I got high marks on my tests in school."

"Well this is not school," Nakano said. "Tell me the purpose, Orr."

"We plan on populating the nearby planet 67BG, the only one with the proper atmosphere and living conditions. Hopefully it'll be worthy of a proper name, too." Orr explained, looking away from her. "By doing this we evacuate this planet, already on its death bed, and mankind can continue on and on and on. Studies can advance and, most importantly, we can check for other life."

Nakano nodded. She looked at Matthias. "I hope you took notes." She turned away and left, her heels clicking.

Matthias paled.

"Damn, I'm starting to wish I joined Emil and ran away."

"No you don't." I spat.

"Yeah, I don't. I'm a coward."


	43. 58

**58.**

The betrayal.

It happened on a foggy morning, the sky the color of static. Each time I saw it it would hurt more. Every time I would hear the high-pitched screams and the horrendous, vile laughter that followed I would grow sicker and sicker. My heart grew heavy. I knew what was happening. Why couldn't I stop it? Why was I powerless? If I had stopped it, Tino would have lived.

I never would have married Miranda.

Never would have met vulgar, but honest Peter. Never would have met sweet, childish Helen. Never would have experienced joy of the familial.

Never would have held Tino's dying hand. Never would have hated Matthias. Never would have dignified this bloody portion of my life with a title.

_The betrayal. _

Each time it went like this:

I would walk under the ashen sky, my hand sin my pockets and a neutral expression pinned on my face. I would hear the high pitched scream at the end of the neighborhood, where a alley jutted out and shattered glass trailed to. I would run. I would pant. I would cry out.

I would round into the alley away and see Matthias. He had his hands around Tino's throat. Blood was spilled, its stench so poignant it felt as if it was rotting my brains. Tino would turn to me, wet tears splashing down his face. Matthias was crouched over him. Tino's trousers had been torn off, down to his ankles. His loins a mass of gore.

My heart would pound in my head. I stared at Matthias who glared at me.

I assailed him with a strike to the head. He fell off Tino. My love was splattered with his own blood, scared, his eyes wide and weak. His light hair was matted to the side of his head. His sweet, delicate lips twisted in agony. His darling hands collecting his fallen trousers and pulling them up, despite the searing pain ramming through him like a hammer through a thin sheet of wood.

I slammed my fist into Matthias' head. He howled in pain. Glass shards were everywhere.

Emil was picking up the shards.

Matthias was bawling.

Lukas was dying.

I would punch Matthias for all the pain.

I would see his head slam against the concrete.

I would see Lukas fall from the blow to his head.

Eyes wide, blood spilled, mouths ripped open in inhuman screams.

Berwald…

_Berwald._

_Berwald!_

_BERWALD!_

I tried to wake up. Someone was shaking my shoulder. I was drenched in sweat and my teeth chattered. Miranda hung over me, her long hair falling into my face.

"Wake up, Elder Berry, wake up." She whispered. "You just had a bad dream."

I stared at her, my vision foggy with tears.

I still heard screams echoing in my head.

Never ending.

My life was changed. Something had erected a wall between my life with Matthias, Emil, Lukas, and Tino and my life now, with Miranda, JoJo, Helen, and Peter. Something translucent, something that even despite my endless jumping I never crossed paths with. Maybe I started dreaming then.

Maybe I broke then.

"Was it Tino again?" Miranda asked softly.

She petted my forehead with a wet towel. With her other hand she tried to give me a glass of water. I grabbed it with unsteady hands, taking a sip.

"Yes."

"Was it the… the betrayal?"

"Yes." I said again.

"You have it so often. Should we see a doctor?"

"A little too late for that." I said weakly. "They'll say it's PTSD or manic depression."

"But they can help."

I shrugged.

"They can't bring him back."

A sadness entered her eyes. The same one Tino had in the pouring rain. Not jealousy or juvenile envy, something more profound.

Something I cannot understand.

* * *

_It was a long time coming, but it's finally here. _


	44. 57

**57.**

"Are your friends any good?"

I looked up from my novel, looking at my father standing in the doorway. His thin far regarded my silently. One strong forearm leaned against the doorframe. He looked anywhere but at me. I shut my book and set it aside. Father never questioned me with such personal remarks. He tried to stay out of my life. Maybe to compensate.

"My friends? Which ones?" I asked.

"The, um, the ones you're with the most, Matthias and Emil, those." He nodded vaguely, stepping into the room. He approached the clunky red radio on one of my cupboards. Fiddling with the knobs, he continued. "Are they nice? Do they do well? Are they, you know, good people?"

I watched him move, like a wandering spirit.

"Yes." I said.

"Good."

"Well, I mean, some of them are better people, but they all have some good."

My father turned the radio on, letting the cluttered noise of an older song choked with static leak through. "Any of them doing anything bad?"

"Not really. Matthias accidentally hurts a lot of people, but he's not a bad person. Emil's been off since Lukas passed away." I paused, as if suddenly remembering something. An old, numb wound began to throb inside me. I swallowed. "And Tino's as goody as a person can be."

My father paused, seeing my cheeks flushed with red. He approached me and, wordlessly, gave me a brief embrace. He hated being touched, recoiling whenever anyone, even mother, brushed past him. He had grow the ability to hide his reaction, but it was always there, like a layer of fog in the lower level of a city.

"Son?"

"Yes?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes, I do."

"Even though we lied so much to you when you were a child?" his voice was soft. It was hurt and had no tongue to lick its wounds. Mother had been infidel to us.

"I don't care about that. You had your reasons." I studied his gaze. "Does it bother you that we've fallen apart?"

"I'm used to it, Elder Berry." My father smiled and rumpled my hair.

"That doesn't mean it won't hurt you anymore."

"Yes, that is true." My father said, but I could see the curiosity and surprise floating in his expression. "But, boy, know this: whenever someone says that 'they're used to it' they lie. They've been hurt too badly."

We fell silent, listening to the music he tuned better. _Kissing in the pouring rain, oh, let's just forget the pain… _Old, swinging music bubbled out, barely cheering us up. My father sighed deeply.

"Do you ever feel sad?" He asked. "About what happened."

I shrugged.

At that time I didn't know that I would experience a broken family three times to come. I didn't know what he meant and, at the time, I thought he was trying to connect with his rowdy teenage son. I may have been better than the other boys, more patient, thoughtful, and at times I could create several clever phrases if I wanted. A rebellious part of me growled at the sentiment. Another part was thankful for the slow, quiet, shy man for reaching out.

I didn't know many things. For most of my life I didn't. I had gotten used to feeling lost in my own body. I wanted only to catch the wind and drift away, tossed around from one wing of this bird to another. I could compare myself to the winged beings of air, but the majestic avians were nothing like me. They had something I lacked desperately: a purpose.

In that moment, sitting on the side of my bed with my thumb stuck in the pages of my book and my father toying with a capricious radio, I felt significant. I felt as if something had been decided, advanced, maybe changed.

My father gave me a soft smile and ruffled my hair again.

"I'm ordering food from that Italian place nearby. It should be here in an hour. Think you'll be ready for dinner by then?"

"Yes, thank you dad."

"You're welcome."

He walked out of the door, shutting it gently behind him. My heart cried out in pain, in longing, in painful, twisting love.

The people in my life walked in, looked at my room, spoke with me, loved me, and then walked away with empty promises. I felt disconnected from my room, my head resting on my palm. Where did they all go when they walked away? Why did time march on, leaving me stuck in the marshes?

I shut my eyes, pulling my finger from the book and watching it sag shut.


	45. 56

**56.**

A heavy tarpaulin covered my eyes. The white, thick sheet provided me with hazy shadows, moving men, and a harsh light overhead. I tried to move my fingers. My muscles twitched but moved no further. I sensed restraints. The lower half of my body I could not feel.

Judging from my still hardened form and my even breathing, I could tell that I was still young, perhaps in my late twenties. I couldn't remember anything. Not only could I not access the memory of my haphazard life, I could not recall what led up to this moment. I could not tell my own name.

I heard voices overhead. A shadow flickered across my head. I tried not to appear awake, which was far from difficult. A man's voice, with a western accent, began to speak.

"Interesting, isn't it?" he asked.

A woman responded. "Yes. But I will not acknowledge you with the idea. I know Dr. Mosaic had found him in the first place. Poor dear, lying in the streets and out of his mind."

"Heather," the man said with a sigh, "I know you feel pity for him. We're helping him, aren't we?"

"First off, never call me Heather again. Secondly, I said nothing about helping him. I voiced my empathy and now I ask you to do what you will."

"That I plan to do, Mrs. Parish."

A shadow, most likely Heather's, approached me. An arm grew darker and that tarp was grabbed roughly, peeled away like the skin of a fruit. My eyes were shut, but the new wave of light caused me to wince as it pierced through skin.

"He's awake." Heather stated.

I couldn't see them. But I imagined a tall woman, with flowing waves of black hair.

"He's not. If he is, he has no idea what's happening and is unresponsive."

"But he could still be hearing us."

"Judging by his condition before we brought him in, I doubt he understands or cares."

"Quite a harsh judgement, wouldn't you say? He could be highly intelligent."

"He could be." The man affirmed.

Hands pressed his my cheek and pushed my eye open. The light hurt. My pupils didn't dilate. She grunted. "Unresponsive pupils. He could be dead." She said lightly. As I had imagined, I saw a woman who was of remarkable height. Her face was long and narrow. But her hair was a short, prickly black cut. Maybe at one point her hair was longer. Her eyes were serious and unrelenting. I wanted her to shut my eyes.

She let go and my eyelid fell shut. She pressed her fingers into my neck, jabbing for my pulse. She must have felt it because she gave a huff of consent and removed her hands.

"He's alive." She said.

"You didn't have to be so gruff."

Heather did not respond. Her footsteps echoed down the hall. "I want your report by tonight. I want him operated on at night, that wound in his leg is too deep and the gash in his stomach needs to be sewn shut, _after _you remove the shrapnel."

What the hell happened to me? I thought groggily.

The man waited until Heather left and then crouched down next to my head. He whispered.

"Oh, you just wait until I'm done with you. Nothing tonight, imbecile, no, I'll fix your physical wounds up, but I'm going to look into your head." I felt him poke my temple with his finger. "I'll go in and make you better. I'll remove all the shit you got and replace it with brains. Isn't that going to be fun? Maybe I'll… Oh, no, that plan is too good."

I wanted to yell, to call Heather back from the haunting man. I wanted to sit up and slug him in the head, to run then for help. I couldn't. My lips did not even respond. I felt a prick in my forearm, followed by the wave of numbing medicine. I was slipping away again, so helplessly lost to the world's grasp. For a moment, I had been in control of my body. The moment was slipping away.

"This won't hurt, young man. Not at all…"


	46. 55

**55.**

"Oh—oh yes—yes, I see."

A pause.

"No, sir, I will be fine."

Another, longer, pause.

An uneasy chuckle.

"Yes, well, thank you for all your services and I apologize I couldn't have been much help." Emil looked at us awkwardly. "Yes, good day." He set the phone down and numbly walked into the room we shared. He sat down on a chair furthest from us, sinking into the maroon plush.

He gave a heavy breath.

Matthias looked at me, scratching idly at one of this thick war scars. We had only been drafted once. I had Tino at my side, pulling him close to me and feeling his head resting against my chest.

Emil cast his watery eyes toward us. "I apologize for crying in front of you." He said tersely.

"Don't be sorry." Matthias said. He walked towards him and rumpled his hair. "Cry all you want. You just got fired, didn't you?"

A tear rolled down Emil's soft, pale cheek. "Yes. It was the job I had that kept me going after Lukas'… I had to have some sort of distraction to keep me from doing something stupid out of grief."

We waited for him to continue. Matthias gave him a cup of water. Emil held it, his hands shaking. He took three careful sips before putting it down. He gathered his courage briefly, using the spur to unleash all the ghosts that had been haunting his heart.

"After he died I was too sad to function. You know how I stopped coming to school? I couldn't. I couldn't move. I couldn't breath. I felt as though the world had stopped. I saw him where ever I went. I saw him in you guys. I saw him in his room, still. I saw him each way I looked and it only hurt more each time. So I took up a job and I worked, getting money, doing the usual thing. Now, it has been all I've known. I don't know _what _to do. All I know is that another piece of me has been ripped out. I'm lost. I should take something else up."

The dark tone in his voice gave us the impression he had found something already. Something he didn't want to share. Later I would find Matthias strangling him in the middle of the desert, wearing the enemies' emblem. I would hate him because he fought against our cause. I didn't believe in our cause even then. I wanted to fight for the idea, not the notion of good vs. bad. I didn't care that we were "polluting the universe" as they had said. I didn't believe that we were helping the helpless. I didn't think we were disease ridden, strange men riding across seas to other ports, claiming their beliefs and way of life is superior.

I was curious.

I wanted to explore.

Emil wept freely now. Tino stood, leaving my arm, and approaching Emil. He bent down and hugged the youngest one of us closely, whispering something that began to slowly sooth Emil. Tino petted his hair, his eyes warm with caring.

But a spark of _something is wrong _flared in his expression, only briefly. I looked to where his eyes had been and saw a small box. I stood, casually walking past it and towards Matthias. I glanced inside.

I saw the broken shards of glass, some with ancient blood stains still on them. I made eye contact with Matthias and Matthias gave me a betraying leer, his gaze drifting lazily towards Tino.


	47. 54

**54.**

A brief history of the world we lived in:

A thousands years prior to the Dawning Age, there was a period of the Dark Ages, which was riddled with war, strange cultures, and considerably more land mass. Then, there was silence. Population dramatically decreased after a sudden bout of natural disasters. Only enough people to fill a small nation remained. These people rose to new scientific developments and created the Dawning Age. This is when mankind finally set foot on another planet and stayed there.

That was the first and only war I fought for, and the only war that every beset the desert lands between the centre city and the ocean.

The enemies, those who could never decide on a name, we called the Stagnants. We were the Advancers. They wanted to keep man on earth for a hundred different reasons. We wanted to advance the population. Only a portion of our group and all of theirs felt strongly about the debate.

And after the war, that's when I cannot fathom the outside world. That was the time when I married Miranda following Tino's demise. That was right before the wall of time when I no longer could remember. Right after the unbreakable wall, Tino was killed.

Or, no, he was shot.

No… Maybe he was sick.

Lost?

Abandoned us?

Joined the enemies?

He was there one moment, and gone the next.

"I know the pieces fit." I told Miranda on a snowy night. "What kind of life doesn't?"

"You are quite the exception." She replied quietly.

"Do I ever… What happens when I leave?"

"Nothing." She paused. "No, for a moment you become distant. Then you snap back into focus and you go on as if nothing happened. Your eyes glaze over, but it's so quick. It looks more like you just had a brilliant—or stupid—thought suddenly."

I rolled over on the bed, throwing one arm over her hip. I pulled her closer to me, burying my face in her hair.

"I tried to stop it once."

"What went wrong?"

"How do you know something went wrong?" I asked gruffly.

"You said you tried it once. Obviously something went wrong, or else you would have tried it again."

"Oh."

"And?"

"And… Something did go wrong. I saw Peter, his face turned bad, like he was mad."

"…Peter?"

She looked at me.

She…

Was not Miranda. My arms were tightly around Tino's waist, small, agile, soft. His hair was golden. I could have sworn that I was holding Miranda. Mirages flickered in and out of my vision. It was as though my head was bursting.

"You're not Miranda." I whispered stupidly.

Tino's cheeks flushed. He sat up, jerking out of my grasp. He glowered at me. "No, I'm _not _Miranda. But at least I know who you are, Berwald 'Elder Berry' O—"

"Tino!" I cried in bliss. I pulled him to me, pressing my lips against his. He kissed back, for a moment, before beginning to pull away in his rage. But he felt my wet cheeks and embraced me instead.

I held him tightly, tears gushing down my face. His hands grabbed the back of my shirt. "I knew it. You love her. You want her. You don't ever want me."

I hushed him, kissing his cheek.

"No, no, my mind is racing. I don't understand what's happening."

"Neither do I, Berwald. You've been acting so strange lately."

"I know. I am so glad to see you."

"I never left."

"Promise you won't ever."

I asked for an empty promise. I knew the future. But I wanted something in that dire moment to cling to, to hold, to believe.

"I promise."

"And I promise not to leave you."

"Not even for Miranda?"

"No, not even for her." I lied. Why would I continue to lie? Why didn't I stop? I knew the future. But I wanted him to have that faith and hope in return.

"Also, I have a question for you."

"Go on."

"Who is Peter?" he asked.

I petted his hair, running my fingers through tight curls. "Just a boy I know."

"Tell me about him."

"He's mouthy, gets in trouble, but I am his father."

"You'll be Helen's father soon, too."

I held him closely, nodding.

"Yes, Helen." I said, or I began to say, because I snapped my eyes open and pulled away. "How do you know about Helen?"

Miranda stared at me, wide-eyed.

"Isn't that what we decided to name our baby girl?" She asked warmly.

Her hand rested on her swollen abdomen. Her pink night gown barely concealed the growing bump. I placed my hand on it. My fingers were numb. I couldn't think. When I was at my clearest, knowing even in the moment the past, present, and future as if they were the three sides of triangle, everything seemed to merge together.

"Yes, Helen."

"Like Helen of Troy?"

I gazed at her eyes, her calm, rigid features. Snow drifted down, casting bluish shadows through the glass doors. Dark shadows surrounded it. I had a feeling of strange déjà vu.

I shook my head.

"Not that conniving woman of literature."

"Not the face that started war?"

"Oh, no, not at all."

"Then why?"

"I like it. Don't you?"

Miranda nodded. "I love it, in fact. But I was also considering Carmen."

"Carmen is an interesting name. A song."

Miranda agreed. She scooted back towards her pillow, resting her back. She let out a long sigh of exhaustion. I clambered next to her and held her close. Her mind was like a diamond at that moment, absolutely perfect.

And Tino…

I shut my eyes, focusing on the memories of Tino. It felt like digging him out of the grave, shoveling heap after heap of dirt. And then my shovel clicked against the hard edge of a trunk—or diamond—and I opened my eyes, finding him next to me. He was a teenager. So was I.

We were young.

We were sprightly.

My chest was bare despite the solemnly falling snow outside. I held Tino's hand tightly. He squeezed my hand, I squeezed back. He looked at me, his eyes half-lidded in quiet bliss.

"Why are you up? Aren't you so tired? Don't you want to sleep?" he asked.

"I'm thinking." I replied. I dug back into the covers, warmed by Tino's presence. He curled up close me.

"Darling, darling," Tino said lightly, "Why are you thinking right now? Free your mind."

He was a strange young man.

"I always think." I said.

I was a tense young man.

"Open up something to drink, then. We're already breaking so many rules."

"Did you already drink something?" I asked.

Tino laughed. "No, no." The sweetest sound followed by the sweetest sight, a content smile. "I'm only joking. I feel bad about staying up so late."

"Don't. It's fine."

"Is it really?"

"Yes."

"Promise?"

"Yes."

He kissed my cheek.

"Let's sleep."

"Sure."

He shut his eyes and fell asleep.

I tried digging through my memories again, but I found a muddled cache. There was too little to grab and tug me into another land, another realm. I closed my eyes, too, and dreamt of the world built for two: just me and you, Tino.

Me and you.


	48. 53

**53.**

I rode in the back of a care, bumping along the road with Matthias at my side. He had his chin resting on his palm. We wore regular clothing. But I saw the fading scars on his neck and arms. It was after our second drafting. We were ready to go home.

One other man who lived in our town sat in front of us. He was fast asleep, his hand clasped around his satchel. I leaned back in the chair, watching the desert slowly merge into grasslands.

Matthias sat uncomfortably next to me. He licked his lips and fidgeted with his hands. I watched as he slid his thumb through his finger perhaps a half thousand times before giving him a dark look.

He sighed, staring anywhere but at me.

"You know," he whispered, "I never stopped regretting that day."

"Which one?"

"Sad that I have so many bad days…" he chuckled, running a hand through the shock of blond hair that fell over his heavy eyes. I could see something there, but I needed to learn more before I could affirm my suspicions.

"Do you feel the same away about all of them?"

"More or less."

"What were you talking about?"

"I was talking about Lukas, when I hit him."

"With the ball?"

"Yes."

"It was an accident."

There, again, the shadow of merciless agony ripped across his gaze.

"I hurt him. I broke him."

I had no response.

"You know it's true."

"Yes, but what can you do?"

Matthias sighed and shook his head. He covered his face with two, large, calloused hands.

"Oh, God, I don't know."

I rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. I saw it again, I saw how he appeared to hate himself. I saw that he would soon attack Tino, but why? He had to have a purpose. He wasn't simply a criminal.

"I wish I could have fallen." he said.

No, I thought, Matthias would never have hurt anyone easily. What changed? What happened? I continued to rub his shoulder softly. I watched his tears trickle down in anguish over an incident roughly a decade ago.

"I'm a dead man."

Matthias shook his head.

"I really am a dead man." he repeated. "I'm wasting away. I feel like my damned soul is slipping away. I don't know why I'm saying all this. It's just I'm at my end, I don't know where else to go or what else to do. I'm lost. I miss Lukas. I'm in this war, fighting for something I don't believe in. I'm torn, too.

"One part wants to hide, another wants to fight like crazy…"

_Shooting the man who nearly killed me_

Matthias was bad, I had to remind myself, he was the betrayal.

I think.

"When we get home I want you to…"

"To what?"

It occurred to me quite suddenly that I had no idea what I wanted him to do. I embraced him and let him weep. I wanted to as well, after training, after knowing that I could die at any moment. I shut my eyes, which had begun to feel wet and burn.

"I'm sorry."


	49. 52

**52.**

It occurred to me that I was again in the past. However, I knew none of the people save for myself.

I stood in the far corner of a broad planning room, lighting pooling in from the snowing outside, fine, white, like silk. I wore glasses and I adjusted them, along with a stiff uniform and a matching hat clasped to my side. I felt lost in confusion, in my outside self, looking in on a body that was mine, but at the same time not.

How could I have lived in this era? Twentieth century, A.D.E. _ante dawning era. _

There was a war going on. I heard voices in a strange language I somehow understood babbling just outside of the room. Footsteps clattered down the hallway, followed by half-hushed whispers. "Yes, Gold, Sword… That's the names they used…"

"Ah, hopefully this war will draw to an end."

"Yes, I'm tired of feeling useless."

"We may be neutral, but we are not useless."

The door swung open and I saw two men, one portly and the other elderly, enter. They gave me a terse nod of respect. I turned around, feeling grand. I did not feel like a man in this memory. I felt like a beast, a godly being, something above these true men before me. It was something I had never felt before. I rested my hands at my sides, allowing them entrance.

Their eyes had trouble leaving me. I watched them, my face impassive.

"No, we came to deliver a message, my lord." The portlier one said, bowing faintly.

"What would it be?" I asked.

"There is a man here to see you." The elder said.

"What is his name?"

"Ah…" they exchanged a glance. The portly one grew red in the face and nervous. "He says," the elder said calmly, "That you know him very well and that he should be allowed entrance."

"He is weeping unpleasantly." The other added.

"Then allow him in." I said.

They left. Shortly afterwords the doors were pushed open again. And Tino entered. My heart plummeted to my feet. I felt cold, but I held my gilded dignity.

"What do you need?" I asked.

"My people… The war waging on my fronts is growing bad."

His eyes were reddened, but not from the tears the men had assumed. He had bruises and cuts along his skin and face. His hair was withered from stress. His very movements were burdened, as though he was dragging the weights of thousands of pleading men and women at his heels. I had a feeling that may have been the truth.

"It is very clear that I am neutral. I wish not to interfere with the war." I told him sternly.

"You act more like a king than ever." Tino said, not without a note of respect.

I sighed and approached him, taking him gently by the elbow and setting him down on a leather chair. He winced, blinking in the harsh ray of light cutting past him. His lips were cracked and bleeding.

"Bring something for him to drink." I ordered a man who passed by the doors.

He paused, giving me an incredulous look. He was prepared to retort that he was not a servant but a member of the good court. I narrowed my eyes. He at once hastened away. Tino remained silent until he returned with a glass of clear water. His obedience made me wonder if I had truly been a king in a past life.

Theories had spanned well before our era, saying that men's souls passed from one vessel to the next, trying to achieve _something _though I am not sure what. Perhaps that is what happened, I had ended up in the wrong body for a brief time in my period of disassociation. Was it a psychological issue? A hallucination? Was I still under the tarpaulin, waiting to be operated on and accidentally having fallen asleep?

Why was I in another war? I thought I had fought only in one.

I looked at Tino for answers. If he was here, too, I could conjecture there was more to it.

"Tino?" I voiced.

He did not respond.

"Ahem," I said. He looked up, his eyes darting around for whomever I had called to previously.

It was a look-alike. I felt betrayed.

"Perhaps my people can do something. The government has much less power than it thinks." I said. "Though more than the people think."

"What an imbalance." Tino said weakly, taking another slow sip of water.

I felt the people stir, like an ocean would feel a wave, had it sentience. Eight thousand men would help the country of Finland fight against the country of Russia.

Finland? Russia? Names I understood but could barely connect to places. I was alive in a time after nations such as these. My confusion grew darker and more painful. I turned to Tino, who remained unmoving. A smile spread across his lips, slowly.

"Thank you. I feel the help."

"Why do you fight?" I suddenly inquired, my kingliness fading briefly.

Tino gazed at me curiously. "Fight in the war?"

"No, why do you personally fight? You have no reason to be on thaw battlefield."

Tino touched a large, gnarled scar on his forearm, half-hidden by the downy white sleeve of his coat. He shook his head slowly. "I will be in pain either way. My people suffer, so I suffer. You would feel the same, wouldn't you? But you made a good choice, for yourself, I suppose. Someone has to be neutral. I have to fight, though, because if I did not I would feel helpless. I would be watching like tyrant kind over his helpless, piteous people. So I fight."

"But you are not a king. The people cannot tell the difference. They know not who you are."

(Who was he, anyway? Who was I?)

"This has nothing to do with them feeling or knowing who I am. It is me knowing how I am."

I nodded.

"Do you need anything else?"

I felt no romance or affection to him. The emotion was a passing tide, fading away to sea foam.

"No." Tino stood. "But thank you."

"My court will know nothing of it."

"I understand."

"Does that anger you?"

He paused and looked at the mirror, seeing me standing behind him. I looked there, too, against my will.

"No."


	50. 51

**51.**

"Let's have a talk, son."

Peter gave me the look of doom. He made as though he hadn't heard a word I said.

"Now, please, at least listen to me."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to. It would be useless for you to talk to someone who won't listen. You'll waste oxygen." Peter shot back.

I crossed my arms. If only I had retained any of my kingliness. I could have made him do as I pleased in those days I scarcely recall.

"Maybe it will be useless, but you can't tune me out completely."

"Uh, sorry, what did you say?" Peter asked, his eyes dull.

"Very amusing."

"Thanks, I take pride in my comedy routine. Want to hear more?"

"No, I'm good. But you just proved that you do listen."

No response.

"Occasionally." I added.

Peter shifted on his bed, looking away from me. He held his novel up, flipping through the pages until he found his bookmark. He began to read, using the window for light. I stood in the doorway.

"Take your socks off. They're dirty."

"I'll come in contact with the dirt anyway, so why shield it from my bed? Plus, I hear it boosts your immune system." Peter gazed at me with pale, blue eyes. His hair was thick, blond, he looked so much like me. His shoulders were burly and his face broad. He wasn't a kid to mess with. If only he had remained as cute and pudgy as he was as a child, Miranda had often mused.

He grew up.

"But this is your bed. You might as well leave one thing clean."

"I don't wear my shoes, do I?"

"No, no, I suppose you don't." I said, trying to seem agreeable. He saw through my ruse and scowled. "Peter…"

"I once saw pictures of you." He cut me off. "You looked so buff, like you could beat anyone up. Now you seem so soft. What happened to you, dad? I remember when you were strong. Aren't kids supposed to look up to their dads like superheroes?"

"Why give false impressions?" I asked, softly.

It struck me just how right he was. My voice had softened, my muscles were flabby. Had old age, or _older _age at least, made me weak? Did it do this to everyone? No, it didn't. I recalled a elderly soldier, once, and I remembered Amahissen. Even in old age he was as pugnacious and wily as ever.

Peter shook his head. "Aren't false impressions better than bad impressions? Couldn't you have granted me one of the best presents a parent can give to a kid? Ignorance, ignorant bliss. I think I would have been a happier kid."

"You were unhappy?"

"No, I was not as happy as I _could_ be."

"Why do you linger on the past? You can't change it?"

"Yes, what a tragedy, a long way into the dawning era and we can't solve the simple problem of time travel. We could use paradoxes to ascertain its existence, sure, and we can technically go back in time, just not our own timeline, another planet's maybe, but only if you use an arbitrary method of calculating time. Which, that being said, implies that there's a such thing as time. To that I digress. Profusely so."

"Peter." I cut him off sharply, summoning whatever drops of a king I had left into a bold, glowering look.

"What?" He snapped, twisting towards me.

"You're a smart kid, you don't need to remind me."

Peter rolled his eyes, setting his book aside.

"But not as clever as you seem to make yourself."

"Oh?"

"You let me talk to you."

"You were, well, you brought up some interesting points. I had to respond."

I smiled.

"You—You!" Peter stammered, his eyes widening. "You used that red herring about socks to distract me… My socks aren't even dirty! And, and… And…"

"Slow down, sailor boy, thinking might be dangerous."

"I think all the time."

"Do you?"

"You're my dad. You have the authority to make me talk."

"Thereby proving your earlier point that you could ignore me well."

"I was saying that lightly."

Peter swung his legs over the bed and stared at me evenly. There was a mind trick his father had played on him, he knew about it, he was _so sure _about it. But what was it? I saw the wheel spinning.

Peter shook his head, his fingers curled into a fist.

"What did you do?"

"I was a king once," I said half-jokingly. "There are many things that make up a king. I can teach you some time." I began to walk out the door.

"No!" Peter cried shrilly. Curiosity began to eat him up.

"What is it?" I turned back to him, trying to restrain the smile of victory.

He glowered at me again. The look of doom rising back into his eyes.

"I'm a curious kid. Tell me now. Didn't you want to talk to me?"

"That's true."

"Then, do it. I'll listen." He bit his lip. "I promise."

"Very well." I gestured for him to sit back down.

He gazed at himself in surprise, as if he hadn't noticed standing up. He sat back down and crossed his arms.

"A king does what he needs, not what he wants. Therefore you will listen to me, and to others—don't pretend I didn't hear what you said to your teacher."

"—Oh, that? Hah, I was just—"

"I don't care what you were _just doing. _As a king listens to his people, you will listen to those around you. Make it your gaol to do what is needed, what is best, for yourself and for others. If one need conflicts with the other, see which is more important. Think, but not too long, for the problem can grow like an infection if you leave it idle for too long."

"So if I see a staring dog I should give it my last piece of bread?"

"If it is beneficial."

"Are you teaching me to be good or selfish?"

"Those are arbitrary terms, the same adjective that you so graciously applied to the word 'time' earlier."

"Yeah, ok, but I don't see how this is helping me."

"That wasn't the lesson. The lesson is you better _listen to me. _At least, for the introductory round. If you will listen to me, I will teach you one other thing."

Peter opened his mouth to retort. I started towards the door. He shut his mouth and frowned.

"Good, you're already learning. Second thing you should know, and the last thing I will teach you today, is that you must believe that you are confident. Pretend if you must."

Peter looked around his room, most likely determining how modern the world around him is. How futile kings are these days. They are men of the past.

"But…" He sighed. "I have so many questions. How is that useful now? How does any of that help me? How does pretending make a difference? Will I become a king by faking it or is it some psychological mind game that makes me believe it? What does confidence have to do with living well? I can tell that you meant to make a metaphor, that by king you meant a good man. I can tell that much but _why_? How did you know what I did to Miss Howard? Why didn't mom say anything? Why doesn't she call me her son? Where was I born?" His eyes glistened as he paused. I raised my hand, summoning the will of the king again. He stopped, looking directly at me.

"You ask many questions. As a child, that does you well, but not excellent. You need to find answers when asking questions does not help. You need to never demand answers, always find them. They are not meant to come easily if they are questions to begin with."

Peter stared at my eyes as though they were ancient stones.

I gave him a warm smile.

"And you cannot expect to learn all of this now. I will teach you little by little."

"Fine, I agree, you can't learn the entire human anatomy in an hour. At least, not well." Peter agreed, "But, answer my final question, at least."

I nodded for him to go on.

"What does being a king have to do with anything?"

"You said that a father must be a superhero." I answered calmly. "I think superheroes are terribly trite and they, for the most part, do not exists. Ergo, I decided on something that I can attest to, something that I know for a fact lived on this good earth. Something that I can teach you without having to drop you into nuclear waste. And, hopefully, will keep you alive."

"So," Peter said, putting the pieces together, "You want to teach me to be a 'king' because that's what you do best?"

"Good. You have the cunning already."

"Still seems childish."

"Perhaps."

"Then…"

We fell silent. I watched him, anticipating another accusation or another horde of questions ready to leap out at me. Nothing came. He stared at the ground, thinking.

"It's confusing." He muttered.

"Puzzles tend to be that way."

"So it's a game?"

"I know how competitive you are. I know how you learn."

"That makes sense."

I struck a dignified pose.

"From now on you will address me as Emperor of the Good House of Berwald Father Sir Professor Sir, Doctor Esquire, and Leader of the Good Men, known King to Man, and the Pious Teacher Elder Berry."

Peter gave me a shocked look, his lips parting slowly.

I gave him a grin.

"Or simply 'dad' or 'father'."

"I'll stick to that, thanks."

I left the room, leaving him time to ruminate.

In the hall I met up with Miranda. She grinned at me.

"Did it go well?" She asked. I nodded. "Oh, good. I think I'll make something tasty, give them some nutrients after heavy thinking." She kissed my cheek and, instead of the kitchen, went to one of the closets.

"What are you looking for?"

"Something to keep points up."

"Ah, I see."

She found a whiteboard, a bit smeared with old marker dust. She pinned it up to the wall and scribbled down a t-chart.

**THE ORDER OF RULERS** on one side and **THE ORDER OF LEARNERS** on the other side. She tallied ten points on the left side, for us. On the other she made one mark. She had the creativity Tino never had. After thinking that, I felt sick with remorse and guilt. I gave her a hug. She shifted slightly and set the marker on top of the board.

"Let it begin, then, Wise King Elder Berry." She announced.

Helen peeked from her room, astounded. Peter looked like a four year old presented with college-level calculus and three minutes to solve it. I gave them another kingly smile.

"Let it begin." I asserted.

* * *

_I hope I didn't scare off my readers... So here's a fun little subplot and chapter, to lighten the mood._


	51. 50

**50.**

I held Tino's hand, trembling. His skin, like pale parchment, was glistening with perspiration. His half-lidded eyes looked towards me, pleading forgiveness. He was lost. He would never come home. I bent over him racked with tears.

"No," I whispered. "Don't. Or else I will—"

"Don't threaten death, Berwald." Tino responded softly.

"Please, don't say goodbye."

"I wasn't planning on it." Tino gave me a cracked, broken smile. Blood trickled down his mouth, scarring his already fragile skin. He shut his eyes, as if the light pained him.

"Don't leave me."

"So many commands, don't you think? A dying man can only do so much."

A choked sob broke through my throat. I held him tightly. I was a loyal husband, wasn't I? I cared for him. I avenged myself, I had battled Matthias. But I was still in that alley. I was still grasping Tino's dying hand. Nothing I did was of any use.

"Come home with me." I whispered, bending my forehead over, touching his chest. He was leaving, so quickly. I could hear his heart pounding, more slowly now.

Tino shook his head vaguely.

"Was I good?"

"You weren't good, you were great. You were better than good. You were better than I deserved. You were the only thing I needed, you are what I need _now. _Hold out, just a moment longer, until the doctor comes."

"Don't cry, no, please…" Tino's voice wavered. "Or I will too."

"I can't help it!" I asserted, pulling him up to a sitting position. He coughed, blood spilling from his lips and staining the front of what was left of his shirt. I had wrapped gauze around his wounds, but the mass of gore was still there. He was wounded in the stomach, too. I hated Matthias. I hated that bastard. I hated him. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate.

I wanted to tear his throat out. I wanted to put that bullet in his head, the one that would kill him not long after Tino vanished from my arms. But I was immobilized. I could barely breathe. The moments I would never see with Tino, his next birthday, the next holiday, fell before me, scattered like shattered glass.

But, maybe it… It was for the better? Was I ever worthy of Tino? I doubted it, I sincerely doubted I could have had the angelic being all to myself. But I wanted just a moment longer. My brain felt like it may just explode in a matter of moments.

If only I could have a moment longer…

I pleaded with someone, anyone.

Tino's life trickled away.

I forced my attention back to him. I held him tightly. He was too weak to speak. Blood continued to pour from his wounds, a dam broken. Life's water, delicate, congealing, leaving him, slowly. Where was that damn doctor? Did I even call for one?

"Hold out a moment longer, Tino. Shh, I'm trying my best." I hissed desperately, pressing a torn piece of my shirt to his wound, trying to stem the blood flow from his stomach.

Tino, kind Tino, gentle Tino, brave, accurate, deadly, loving, homey Tino…

"It's time for you to let me go, Elder Berry…" Tino managed to gasp out. His eyes unseeingly searched for me, gave up, and then slid shut. "Please… I don't want to hurt anymore. I don't want to be jealous anymore. I don't want to lose you."

It was selfish. It was so selfish. I wanted to go first. I couldn't bare it. I wanted to break something. My heart was being ripped apart. Worlds were colliding. The sun might go super nova at any moment. Anything, please, anything to not give me this agony.

"The river is overrunning," Tino said quietly.

"How? Why? Which river?"

Tino grabbed my arm, pooling his strength for this last effort.

"Berwald I love you."

"And I love you, more than I can fathom. More than anyone can fathom. I love you more than I lo…"

But it was too late.

I felt no more tears. I had gone numb. I pulled Tino closer, embracing him softly, and letting him go, for now.


	52. 49

**49.**

Amahissen, my fellow soldier, was hardly a man. He was a storm. He tore through rooms, chewing up scenery, eating up the attention, and swallowing all pride whole. He grinned like crazy. He was Matthias if Matthias hadn't made the mistake of hitting Lukas that time long ago.

Gaunt Amahissen, called Hiss by us because his foreign sounding name tasted strange on our tongues, was in my house. Tino wasn't home, he went out to buy groceries. This was the week of the betrayal. I sat across from Hiss, his leering smile consuming any attention of mine that would wander.

"So." He said.

"Yes?" I asked.

He wore a white shirt and brown trousers. Even when he wasn't in combat, he was dressed for it. He was ready to defend, to attack, to beat, to _win. _He crossed his legs, leaning back in his chair.

"Did you come for a reason?" I asked.

"Can't a man say 'hello' to a friend of his, just once?" Hiss drawled.

I frowned.

His grin broadened.

"But, you know me far too well, don't you?"

A haunted shadow crossed his eyes. As if an inner war was being waged.

"I suppose I do."

"You suppose a whole lot, you don't affirm or know for sure, do you?"

"It's called modesty. Perhaps you should trying using it sometime."

His features darkened. A chill ran down my spine. I thought I could see his face being enveloped in shadow. The way he contorted his mouth provided for that illusion. Then, it lit up, briefly, and he laughed.

"As saucy as always, oh ambiguous Ber. Do you ever deny me the pleasure of your humor?"

I stared. "I beg your pardon?"

"Don't beg, it's rude."

"I have a feeling you're quoting something."

"I am, big guy."

We paused. I tried to search for the source. It was one of the older books, A.D.E.. In the meantime he looked around the home Tino and I shared. He had seen Tino and I once before. His expression tightened.

"What I menat to ask, as you so cleverly knew through my ruse, was how the hell did a big, brawny guy like you marry another man? Usually it's the prissy ones…"

"I didn't think you lived in the old times." I said icily. "Your prejudice is very obvious. Don't hide it."

"I wasn't being mean about it, goodness, I was just making a simple observation. You're a man of science. You should understand that, at the very least." Hiss paused, picking at the arm of his chair. His calloused fingers scraped against it with an unpleasant sound. "Then again, Tino's a feminine, attractive man. I don't blame you. So what are you, then?"

I pretended to consider what he meant. It was obvious he what his goal was. I just didn't know his motives behind it.

"I prefer not to label myself with a title. Most of them have fallen out of use, anyway, since the Dawning Era began. For better, I think. And why should I think about it? I have the love of my life. What else do I need? Some petty names to call myself? A fancy word attached to '-sexual'? I don't see any purpose in that."

Hiss raised his hands. "Hey, hey, slow down. I was just asking you a simple question. No need to through a hissy-fit. Hah, no pun intended."

"That was fully intended."

"Yes, it was. Now." He stood abruptly, placing his hands on the back of his chair. "If you don't mind, I have places to go and people to see. I'll come by later. How does that sound? I still have things I'm curious about." he offered me a friendly smile I did not return.

I wanted to kick him out, but I was no king.

* * *

_I apologize for posting so many stories a day, but I have so many plans and so many stories I want to get to... And this story writes itself, what can I say? By the thirties, the chapters should slow down a little, though. Maybe. I'm not psychic. _


	53. 48

**48.**

Emil came home with a black eye and a broken nose. He looked at my mother apologetically and walked to his room like a man on death's row. He was staying with us for three days, to stay away from home, to find solace somewhere.

My mother age me a hard look, motioning for me to go ask what had happened. I stared at her indigently. "I think he needs time alone." I said.

She scowled. "If he ever needed someone to talk to, it's now. Go, Berwald." She said.

I stood, setting my novel aside. I tried to muster up a look of hatred, but managed nothing. I went towards the room Emil had vanished too, taking a wet towel along with me. I heard muffled sobbing from the room.

Gently pushing the door open, I entered. Emil looked up, his eyes wide. I mutely walked towards him, sitting down. I set the wet towel against his face and dabbed away the blood. Mother was preparing something for his black eye. Probably a salve.

"What happened?" I whispered.

His eyes, wide and terrified, stared at me.

He didn't respond. Old haunts were rising in his gaze. His face was smeared with tears, blood, and dirt. I mopped up as much as I could. A new wave of tears erupted with a strangled sound in his throat. I wrapped an arm around his shoulder, trying to collect him, to keep him with us. He wept into my shoulder, holding me tightly. He was so young.

And I was too late.


	54. 47

**47.**

I opened my eyes.

At least, I tried to.

I felt warm fingers trailing along my skin, up my hair. I wanted to squirm to show pleasure. I knew it was a woman's hand. Even though it was big, calloused, and worn. A woman who had seen too much. I figured she was a nurse. Pain trickled through my veins. The doctor had done his deed. Now I was being cured.

Cured of what?

Oh I don't know. But I felt so peaceful. I felt like I was floating high up in the air, buoyed on different clouds ranging in size and shape oh it was marvelous. The hand caressed my forehead above where the white sheet was, then her fingers hooked beneath it and slowly tugged it off.

I heard her say something.

"Close your eyes, the light's too strong. I will dim it before I leave. But for now I must see you."

I nodded weakly and shut my eyes, which wasn't hard to do. She pulled the white sheet off. A wave of light cut through my eyelids, making me see an orange-red glow with bobbing white boxes. I kept my eyes shut. I let her pet me more, let her soothe me. Soon her hands stopped and I squirmed to show that I wanted more.

"Be patient, now, I only have to look. You'll feel a pinch."

What did you want to do with me what was it—ow no that was _not _a pinch. I winced as something behind my ear turned red-hot and rolled with pain. It stopped quickly and I relaxed. She continued petting my head.

For a moment I pretended that I had opened my eyes and the woman was no longer there. Tino stood over me instead. His gentle voice coupled with a gentle white shirt and gentle white skin so pure angelic and his hands holding me dear and his lips kissing my nose my lips my forehead. He whispered that it would all be fine. He whispered sweet nothings until I drifted back to sleep. A smile burned at my mouth.

But my eyes were still closed. The nurse was still over me. I could smell the strawberry perfume on her bosom, cast towards me and making me feel warm and at peace.

Then I pretended again. This time I imagined opening my eyes and finding teary, prideful eyes of Miranda. She would pin a badge on me, telling me I had done well. She would pet my head, maybe kiss it, and then leave.

I grew fearfully lonesome because of it. I wanted Tino back. My smile vanished and I let out a low, guttural moan.

"Sh, I know it hurts a little. But it'll go away soon." The nurse said. Her feet clicked down the room. I made another moan.

No please don't leave me too I have no one.

Please please don't.

I pleaded with my mind. I wanted her to stay because if she stayed then I stayed in this time. I knew my body was locked into position that I couldn't do much but it was far better than suffering in another time.

Her steps came back. The light of room had dimmed. As she promised. I breathed in relief. She returned and petted my forehead again. Never stop. So comforting.

"There, you can open your eyes now." She said.

I pried my eyes open with some difficulty. I blinked them several times, clearing them of any blur. Over my head the nurse stood. She had a round, delicate face. Her eyes were bright blue and clever. Her hair was curled, pulled back. She was beautiful. I nearly wept from such a sight.

Mostly because only a moment before an image of Matthias' bloodied corpse lingered in my arms.

She was rotund, but in a cute way. She was homey. That was the word. A homey woman. I wanted her to never leave.

I choked that out.

"Please… don't… leave…"

"I have to attend to other patients, too." She said back. "But I won't leave. I'm _your _nurse after all."

I loved the way she spoke. She had an accent. The same one Tino had.

I began to weep despite myself.

She brought a soft towel and dabbed at my cheeks.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Very… very, very much… miss…"

Her plumy pink lips curled into a smile. "I'm glad to hear that. You've suffered a lot, now. The war truly was quite the burden."

"T-Tino…?!" I muttered. Hadn't the doctors said that I was found in an alley? I had assumed it was following Tino's death. Was I wrong?

She looked at me curiously. "Tino? You said that name often in your sleep. Is it someone you love?"

I nodded. My neck hurt because of it. But I needed to find him.

"Well he hasn't visited you yet. Only one person has."

I raised my brows. Who was it? I asked, too tired to voice it.

"It was a man named Lukas. A little young, long blond hair." She explained, setting the sheets around me better. She was preparing to leave.

Lukas…

My blood froze. Time was broken. Lukas died when I was a teenager. I was an adult now. This was after the war. Why was he here?

"When he comes by I'll wake you up." She said. "If you need anything press the button at your side and ring the bell. I, or another nurse, will come by and tend to you." She petted my head again. I didn't focus on what she said. Time was broken. Time was broken. I was timeless. I was a timeless man. Time was broken. So broken. Glass shattered against the ground. A broken present. Broken broken broken

She left.

And I slipped out of this time, snatched away by an undertow. The tide swallowed me up. And I submitted. For I had no choice.


	55. 46

**46.**

The therapist explained her theory, provided evidence, and now waited for my response. The problem was, I couldn't remember a word she said. I stared at her blankly, twisting my old fingers in my lap. My harried skin hurt. I was getting so, so old. Soon I would be a dusty old man lining the sidewalks, begging for mercy. The sidewalks, the people, oh, those people passing by would not to spare me a glance. I sighed deeply, shutting my eyes.

"Don't you agree?"

"I need some background first." I told her.

Her face fell. "You mean you don't understand?"

I shook my head.

"I don't remember what you said."

"You were 'gone'?"

"Yes."

She made a strange expression. I watched her evenly, waiting for a response with an eternity of patience swimming in my head. I could wait for anything, now. I had been jumping around so much. I had been riding furiously, mock five, my entire life. If it can even be called a life. I could wait in line forever. I would go to the busiest stores and stand in one for a year if I could. I could wait.

"That's weird." She said.

"Did I change while I was gone?"

"No. Until just now. When I finished you blinked and your eyes went blank."

"It's good to know sometimes how other people see you." I said.

She appeared far from amused.

"Well what I said was—" She yelped, covering her ears.

I stood up, moving towards her. Her pink nails flashed in my direction before clapping back over her ear. She doubled over, her head to her knees. Tears of pain streamed down her face.

"The noise!" She gasped out, squinting at me. "How can you stand it? Unless… Unless you can't hear it."

And I couldn't. Dark, wispy clouds started at her eyes, pouring upwards like steam from a teapot. I watched her vanish, consumed by air. The rest of the office went, too. It trembled before flying upwards in scattered pieces. Some parts went down, shattering like glass. I watched the river overrun.

River overrun… Tino had said that. The river is overrunning… What did he mean? Why did it fall into my mind now?

"Yes, all of those are good questions."

A voice from the bleak darkness behind me sounded. I turned, trying to find it. I looked and looked, unable to find the source. As far as I knew, I was suspended in black. Nothing was around me. But I could feel and see myself, even though I was not their either. My body was either transparent or not there at all.

"Where am I?" I shouted.

"You are nowhere." The voice came back. It sounded familiar. Deep, brooding.

I twisted as best I could. Though I didn't have to. I felt as though I was everywhere at once. Was I real anymore? My head throbbed. At least I wasn't with the therapist. She knew the answer, but something had come in her way. Now, that something was consuming me.

"Where are _you_?" I called back.

"I am with you."

"So you are nowhere, too?" I asked.

Might as well go along with it.

I saw the source of the voice. The darkness sifted out of the world. I stood in a playground, the same one where Lukas had been hurt. A splatter of blood still stained the ground. Aside from a cool breeze rattling the chain of a swing, we were alone.

Matthias stood before me. At least, what looked like Matthias. He was the same age as he was when he had been shot. His hair was spiked up, his clothes neat, but his eyes empty. The harrowing vessels stared at me, colorless pupils judged me.

"You're a mirage?" I asked.

"Yes, I am the oasis you see when you are parched in the desert." He said, using a woman's voice. Miranda. "Good luck trying to touch me."

My blood did not boil in rage.

"Not that you would." He—no, it—added. It cocked its head at me curiously. "You know why you wouldn't. You aren't mad at this person."

"But he was the cause of my betrayal." I retorted.

"Which betrayal? Did you ever see him maul Tino?"

"No—yes—his hands were on his throat—who are you?" I thought I would bellow. I didn't. My voice came in a cold, broken whisper.

"Think of me as a guide. I will lead you through your life. I have been, but you haven't seen me." The image rippled, changing into the massive, beautiful form of JoJo. The image smiled at me, then rippled into something inhuman. My heart fell to my knees in terror. I wanted to vomit, but I had no stomach. I looked away, shutting my eyes, but I still saw it. I saw the pulsing, burnt, horrible thing over and over in my mind. It was seared into the flesh behind my eyelids. No escape. Never an escape.

"Then will you answer any of my questions?" I muttered.

"If you ask the right ones." Its voice was worse than its appearance. Everyone I loved in a twitching bundle, the sounds merging into a grating, painful sound of grief. "And if you can bare to hear the right answers." The figure rippled into an image of a child. Of me. Or of my father. I didn't know. I couldn't know. I was hopelessly lost.

I tried to gather my runny thoughts. They kept escaping through my fingers. I wanted them back.

"Where am I?"

"You are nowhere. I already answered that." The child's high-pitched voice said.

"What am I going to do about the rivers overrunning?"

"Other than weep and call for your mother?" A crude smile crept over its face. "The only problem is you. You are the only solution."

"But that doesn't make sense." All my studies gathered in my head again. "If a computer went in to fix its own problem, it would be caught in an infinite loop."

The smile vanished into a look of solemn pride.

"I never said I would answer. I would give you hints."

"Was that a hint?"

"Are we going in circles?"

An idea fell into my head. Now, to test it out. "Am I real?"

No response. The blank eyes bore into me, urging me to continue.

"Are _you _real?"

"Now there is a good question."

"And?"

"And what? I am you."

I paused. And then in a sterling moment of clarity, I understood.

* * *

_I end here because I am a horrible person. _

_All the theories you have sent me are quite good. In fact some are very, very close. But the answer was always in the story. Seek and you shall find._


	56. 45

**45.**

Tear stains slid down the fine glass of my spectacles. I pulled them off and wiped them clean. But I didn't put them back on. The tears flowed. The river began to overrun. My body shook. My head spun.

I was in camp, the night after Matthias passed away in my arms. I had seen him. I saw him under the white sheets, blood leaking from his wounds, staining white. And I watched. I didn't throw myself at his corpse. I stayed away. Thinking how could he betray me. And only thinking that.

How fragile a human life is how _is it _that we manage? Those questions never came to mind. I only wondered about myself.

My head hurts.

I rarely sleep.

When I shut my eyes I see it over and over again. I see the stains covering my front. I see him rising from the dust. The dust seems so grand in my mind, like the waves in the sea. I see the boy get shot. I see the world shiver and then I see him stumble.

I see him in my arms.

I see my hands vainly try to put the broken pieces of him back together again. Not just his bones and earthly flesh, but his mind. It was beyond broken. Tears continue to slide down my cheeks. Miranda walks by. She sits down by me on the small bed. She has a scar along her left cheek and one of her arms is in a sling. It would take a lot more than that to kill her.

She set her hand on my shoulder, rubbing calm, soothing circles. She wanted me to relax. To rest. To forget.

But I couldn't, I tell her. _I can't._

_Of course you can't._

_Then why do you tell me this?_

_Because I can't either._

I looked at my hands and I see a flash of red. Sickness wells up in my throat and I tremble incessantly.

She rubs my shoulder again.

We were married.

We would be married.

We are marrying.

What time was I in? My head spun. I looked at her and held her close because I had no one left. Emil was dead, too. I saw his body in a pile of corpses. The Enemies' attacks had been in vain. They knew it. They threw their army at us and we fought, we fought bravely, but for what?

We became animals in that moment.

And Emil was dead among them.

In my mind the pile rose. Tino, Matthias, Lukas, Emil, me. I was standing at the top of the white blanket. War tore everything apart. Matthias had gone crazy, that's all. Isn't it?

Isn't it?

I prodded anything for a question. This was a puzzle, after all.

And I was in the center. I couldn't look out or around. I could only move my pieces with what little scraps of knowledge I had. And so little did I have.

* * *

_Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews! (Can we break a hundred soon? That would make me so happy. And maybe get this story a little more notice? As it is, I'm so happy to have readers). Here's a chapter shortly after the previous, seeing as I won't have time in the next few days to update. I apologize for that. _


	57. 44

**44.**

Two voices speak on either side of me. I know not who they are. My vision is blurred and dark. I feel nothing. I can only listen.

"We're lost, I am sure of it."

"No, dear, for every puzzle there is a solution."

"Not always. There are mazes that are cut off from reality. That is to say, they are closed off and one cannot escape. They are made to be unsolvable."

"You compare the human mind to a maze?"

"Yes."

"An _unsolvable _maze?"

"Yes. I can't see how anyone would think of it any differently."

"Well, I do. Everything in our universe is comprehensible. Everything is fixable."

"I doubt it is. Imagine a computer. When it goes in to fix itself it ends up in an infinite loop. It goes round and round and no solution is found. That is what we're doing here. Isn't it? We are human brains going into human brains trying to chase after a solution when there very well might not be one."

"A good metaphor, but we aren't going into our own minds. We are going into another one."

"Still, what if you considered the mind of humans a collective source, one that is large and all encompassing?"

"That is a fallacious statement and you know it."

"Yes but—"

"I taught you better than that. You are a smart young woman, and yet you desperately wish to cure this young man?"

I imagined a hand waving in my direction.

"Yes, I do, in fact." Came the definitive response.

"While not everything is curable at any given time, we can still have hope. And why do you bounce from how we cannot save him to your wont to save him?"

"I want to. That does not mean we can. And you know why."

A long, heavy pause.

A deep breath.

Oh shit.

"You want to euthanize him?"

"It's the only possible cure."

"Instead of trying to fix it we break it? Get a new one?"

"He is _suffering_!"

"All men suffer."

"I don't want him to suffer!"

"You love him?"

Another painful silence.

I imagine her nodding.

"No." She said. Something in her voice was honest.

"No?"

"I am in love with someone else. You know I am a married woman. But I am just sick and tired of seeing men suffer for doctors who try to seek out answers where there are none."

"An unjust accusation, unjust and repulsive. I can have you fired."

"Quit spewing what you can do. Instead say something you will do or are doing!"

"You saucy, hoity-toity young woman—"

"You dwell in the past!"

The voices rose to a clamor and I mustered out a moan. They ceased and I felt something on my forehead, but at the same time a million miles away. I wanted to beg them to let me out of this body, so I can experience being let, that darkness, the above and beyond.

The maze of my mind is closed off. I was stuck inside of it, chasing my own tail. I was stuck and I wanted the walls blown apart if someone could do that. Let me out let me out my shadow is chasing me let me out oh shit why please I want Tino I want to be _home_


	58. 43

**43.**

I stood staring vacantly at the falling snow. Immobilized by my sorrow dragging my very heart down into my knees. I wanted nothing more than to disappear into the earth all together. I turned and walked down the long road home.

I pushed the door open and was greeted by Miranda. She smiled and took the mail from my hands setting it on the counter. I shuffled out of my coat and scarf. She watched me with a judgmental click of her tongue.

"Afraid of a little cold weather?" She asked.

"Hm?" I looked up. Her eyes met mine. In the strange attribute of marriage we understood one another in that moment. She knew the pain resting on my soul.

Today was _that _day. She approached me and kissed my forehead.

"Peter has gone back to college and Helen went to a friend's house. Oh those young ones grow up fast… We can talk about it if you want." She proposed comfortingly.

Miranda had taken courses. She dealt with soldiers suffering any form of post traumatic stress disorder. She comforted JoJo, her then brother, to rise up over his circumstances. She held hands with men who had throw away their lives for things they didn't believe in. For pieces of paper flitting from place to place. From masses of inhuman, dead rock to the next.

She had no idea what I was feeling.

I felt rage. I felt horror. I felt like I was exploding. I stood, taller than she was, a heaping pile of snow towering over a dismal flower, the one the partisan was burying next to, and I glowered.

"You don't understand. Why should I talk about it?"

She didn't look afraid of me. The flower mutated and grew. From flower to tree to oak to a mountain dotted with other flowers and lush grass. Warmth in the face of my never ending winter.

"This is the day your friend killed your husband. Of course you want to talk about it! You have to! If you keep it inside of you you'll explode!"

I knew what Matthias felt in that instant.

Except it wasn't Matthias who felt that way.

It was me.

My fingers curled into tight fists. I continued to glare at her. She knew what I was doing. Her muscles began to shape up again after Peter left to study. We were returning to our old haunts. We couldn't leave the battlefield. It never left us.

"So you're going about the brute way?" She hissed.

"Yes, I think I am."

"You idiot." She said, stepping forwards. "I sacrifice everything for you. I give up my fiancé, I give up my goddamn life to help you! You made me fall in love with you. You made me want to help you. I knew it was a bad idea. I knew you were a risky person the moment you stepped up to my training. You were a rock. But you were a monster living beneath it, too."

"So poetic, remind me you bitch, who helped your sister when she lost everything? Who cut out of his own pocket to give you a home? Who offered to father your children?"

"Our children!" She interposed.

I tromped over her. "They don't feel like mine. That stupid game we played, it did nothing to help them. They became worse. Helen is callous and I'm certain she's not at a friend's house but at that greasy boy you didn't like. You trust too much. And Peter, dead drunk with his friends." I unfairly mimicked a high-pitched woman. "_Oh but he's in his twenties! Let him do what he wants! He has that right. Let him learn, oh yeeessss, let him learn my cutie pie pumpkin."_

I had crossed the first boundary. Her face reddened and her eyes darkened. I saw a fire ignite in her gaze. She would have put a bullet straight through my head had she one in her arms.

"As if I sound like that. As if I have ever even uttered the word 'cute' prior to now?"

Her voice was steady, but ice steady. In a moment it would crack and the frigid air could swallow me whole. I only got angrier.

"You would be dead right now if it wasn't for me." She said with a grin, knowing she was winning.

Not really.

In a moment a scream escaped her. She was sprawled against the wall, my hands throttling her throat. She kicked at me, her fingers prying into my grasp to breath. Her cheeks paled. She wasn't winning. I wasn't either. No one was winning.

She coughed and sputtered, begging me to let go. She could kill me, she knew the right ways. A jab in the throat, a swipe from her nail through my major arteries, a hit to my temple, any abundance of ways. But she didn't. I saw the love swelling in her eyes. What she thought was a lover's quarrel went beyond that.

She really was winning.

And I was the big man with the massive bear fists, pummeling the small boy who would become my father.

I wanted to let her go.

In my mind I did. I let her fall to the floor and then I embraced her. I wept and begged her forgiveness. She kissed me and said she knew I wouldn't hurt her, I couldn't. I was too gentle. Sure, I was scary, but I wasn't a bad man. She knew me well. She knew me. _Knew. _She did not know who I am now. She knew who I was. But I had changed. I had seen my life so many times. I wasn't me anymore. I was an infuriated bystander who wanted his money back.

In real life I did none of the above. I squeezed harder and removed one hand. With that hand I committed a blow that sent blood splattering against the wall. Her nose was broken and her eyes became fixed with a look that meant I will fight you now. I dropped her and she swung at my belly. But she missed.

She never missed on accident. She stopped right before, throwing her head up. She begged me not to do anything, to think. GODDAMMIT BERWALD WHY CAN'T YOU EVER THINK?

I didn't. I continued not to think. I hit her across the head then the back then the arms. Bruises blossomed over her arms and legs. Her fingers scrambled for the phone. I made a mistake then. I began to weep as my foot came down. I gave a strangled scream when I heard the fine fingers of her bones of the hand that once caressed me and forgave me. I bent down when she howled in pain. Her fingers were broken. With the other hand she grabbed the phone. I hit her legs. She dialed a number. Oh I knew what it was Berwald why can't you think and she continued to bawl and plead and forgive

oh she forgave

she always forgave

even when a month later they put me under the white sheet and fixed my brain

she forgave

but I couldn't.

She rolled over and let me beat her. She knew I could hurt her now and she also knew I could never kill her. She let me pummel her, a savage beast raising each fist in protest against who knows what and bringing it down to shatter bone after bone. Her blood painted the walls and her screams ceased into a dying last echo. She shut her eyes but she still breathed she still lived long after.

I didn't.

I wept and wept and wept.

Even as I hit her for all my bottled rage

What have I done

I have made a mistake

oh have mercy on me

_Semper amabo te_

_Semper_

_semper_

_sums magnus et malus vir_

_(the strange words where do they come from?)_

A dead language

A dead wife and dead lover. No, not another one.

No please anything but this

no no no no no NO NO NO NO _NO!_

Now she knew I was wrong too.

As rough hands dragged me away I saw her head twist away from me. Her chest no longer rose and fell. Helen would come home and scream. Scream all you want, child, she won't come back. Scream scream scream until your voice goes hoarse.

I was so tired

What had I done.

I looked at my torn, blood knuckles. The rivers overrun. Of course I knew what I had done why don't I ever think? I shut my eyes. I let them take me away.

* * *

_Note on translation from Latin:_

_semper amabo te: I will always love you_

_sums magnus et malus vir: I am a great bad man_


	59. 42

_Because I'm a total nerd and the chapter number is the answer to the ultimate question, this chapter will hold a lot of answers. None obvious. That being said, thank you for the reviews. Sure some of you probably hate me now and that's fine, the author has really little to do with the story when it comes to down to readership. The story writes itself. But each of you is important, none of my stories have been big enough to the point losing one person meant little. Each of you do mean something, and I'm sorry to have driven some away. _

_That all being said, this story is a puzzle. Not just a linear structure. The pieces were scrambled, preplanned, and begging to be solved._

* * *

**42.**

The shadow approached me again. I don't know where I was.

"You seem to be coming by more and more now." I said.

"Of course," it's liquid voice responded, "But I was there from the beginning… Some say the shadow is a _reflection _of your inner self, your inner being."

I could not fathom a response. My throat felt dry.

"You were," I began but the shadow slid past me, cutting me off.

"I was not. I am."

"Will you give me any answers? I spent more than my life time searching for them. I went to the past, I went to the far future. I searched and searched. I pried in every corner I could find."

"_You _went? As if any mortal man, or man of your particular kind, could do such a thing. Of course _you _didn't go anywhere. I took you. I led you, followed you, at your heels. I enveloped your life."

"That means you know my life well enough."

"Well enough?"

"You tagged along with me, then, so you've seen all what I've seen. At least, before. You are my shadow, aren't you?"

No response.

"So you know me… Then you took me around my life. So you must have known it well enough to take me where you wanted me to go, what you wanted me to see."

"Knew it so well you could say replicate it."

The pieces fell into place, and I knew they fit.

"Or create it." I breathed.

The shadow would have grinned had it a proper form. It slid past me again, through me, given me a flash of consciousness.

"I may give you the answers again, soon. But I won't unless you try to uncover them yourself. I gave you time to enjoy all life had to offer. Now, you must learn. Learn what I want, who you are. Rather, who you were."

"Won't you be there for guidance?" I began to beg.

The shadow passed again.

"If you need it."

And I was left alone to think before I was swept back into what I once thought was my life.


	60. 41

**41.**

I found a letter in my shoe during the war:

_Look too far and you mall fall, but one step at a time is good enough. _

OY QSU YSLR S APMH YOQR YP QODD UPI. NIY YJSY OD GOMR NRVSIDR O QRSM MPYJOMH YP UPI FPRD OY? QSYYOSD FOF MPY LOAA YOMP SQSJODDRM FOF. UPI QSU MPY NR FTRSQOMH UPI ERTR PMVR S MSYOPM S **HPF.**

I folded it back up and threw it into the dust, stepping over the coded mystery. I didn't want to bother with it now, of all times. I wanted to sleep sound, if anything. I gathered my gear, hitching it over a shoulder, and slipped back into the tent.


	61. 40

**40.**

I shivered as the old faucet spat water over me. I rubbed my shoulders, my knees knocking under swimming trunks. Next to me, my father was patting my shoulder. "You'll learn how to swim today." He said. It wasn't a suggestion, a goal, a plan, or a wishful thought. It was a command. I began to shiver harder, even though my crawling skin had gotten used to the cold.

I could smell the chlorine rising from the pools, wafting like mist. I padded barefoot behind my father. He looked so old, so massive; a mountain just before me. We entered the large area with vaulted ceilings. The smell was more powerful here, but not totally unpleasant. It was a sort of nostalgia, a friendly greeting from the past.

Children splashed in the shallow end, high pitched laughter rising from them. A pregnant woman sat on the edge, watching her friend hold her infant and dip him into the water, her face tart with love. I began to walk to that end, smiling. It didn't look too bad. I would step in, splash around, and that would be it.

My father gently grabbed my shoulder and steered me away from the shallow end. No, he had other plans obviously. He took me to the deep end. Teenagers gathered there, talking, or tossing a basketball into the hoops lining one end. And, even further down, older men and women swam complacently. My father took me to that end, where one could dive easily.

"You'll learn to swim." He repeated.

Fear gripped my head. I felt like passing out. Or vomiting. Or both.

"No." I said, my voice aquiver.

"Swallow your fear, son." He ordered.

"But…" I paled, but I swallowed my bitter fear. "I think I'm ready." I began to say.

He cut me off by hoisting me by my armpits. He swung me as I began to yell. I toppled into the pool, my arms flailing and my long, thin legs kicking. I met the water, hard, sending a shockwave of water away from me. The adults around me laughed, keeping an eye out in case I didn't pop back up.

I sunk slowly to the bottom, my eyes shut hard. Bubbles trailed up my face and up up up towards the lit dry land. My feet brushed the hard bottom of the pool. I pried my eyes open, squinting. My cheeks were puffed up, retaining air.

I looked around. Above me pale legs kicked or drifted. Hands several hues lighter than what they would be above land flickered past me. I sat at the bottom, slowly rising, then forcing myself down. I was too mesmerizing by the underwater world.

Something about it was serene. I heard beautiful music in the swooshing and gurgling of water. The compression of noise was so comforting. I placed my feet against the ground and pushed up with them. My lungs had begun to scream. I felt faint and my body was bursting with energy, forcing me up. I shoved with my hands inexpertly, scrambling back for air.

My head broke the surface and light met my gaze. My arms flew frantically through the water as I bobbed precariously. My father swam up next to me and helped me get to the shallower side of the pool. I gasped for breath, but felt like I had achieved something, no matter how small. My head had broken the surface.


	62. 39

**39.**

It was only a moment before the betrayal. And I saw it all clearly this time. I stood in the alleyway, hearing the piercing screams. My mind was no longer foggy and unclear. I rushed towards it. I saw Tino tumble to the ground, already gored and bleeding. His blood spilled towards the ground and around. Matthias fell over him, grabbing his chin—not his throat—with broken hands.

In the back I saw the dark, laughing silhouette of Amahissen rushing away.

Matthias wasn't choking Tino. He was holding his head, tilting it up, trying to help Tino bleed. All in vain. Matthias did nothing. Aside from his broken knuckles, having had burst against Amahissen's bones, Matthias was untouched. Tino gasped, looking thankfully at him.

But my mind was screaming, at Matthias. At that time I hadn't registered Hiss. All I knew was that I was betrayed and Tino was hurt. I hurled myself at Matthias.


	63. 38

**38.**

I rested my head in mother's lap. She calmly patted my head, looking down at me fondly. Guilt, sorrow, pain filled her eyes. She shut them and held me closer.

"I think you're well beyond old enough to learn about your father…" She said.

"I know him well." I said in response. I sat up. I was too old of a man to lie in her lap. I leaned against the wall. She placed her hands on her lap.

"No, your real father."

My blood froze.

"You mean…?"

"Yes. Now, listen before you act. For once, please." She paused, taking a deep breath. She tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear. "The man I will talk about does not deserved to be called your father, biological or otherwise. The man who raised you is your father. Your true father. He loves you and cares for you, but you still must never let go of your past."

I nodded, pressing my lips together into a fine white line.

"When I was twelve I met him for the first time. I lived in the city we know now as Pfenix Rust, the one where it's always cold and it snows too much. One day, when I went out to tend to the small herd of sheep my father owned, I came across a young man perched over the icy river.

"Berwald, you probably think this is a sappy love story that begins with hatred. And, in a way, it is. I hated him at first for reasons I couldn't fathom. I hated what I did not understand. I think everyone can agree that has happened at some point to them. Moreover, this isn't about my wisdom—what little I have—but about my life and your 'father'.

"There on the ice I walked to him and threw a stone at his back. He jumped up before it hit him. He was a handsome young man, two years my senior, making him fourteen. I giggled and ran off to the sheep. The sheep were already cold. One was in labor and I cried for my father. If you believe in Omens, I don't know what you believe in, my son, but if you do then take this as it is. The sheep perished while giving birth. She had been infected with something, I can't recall the name, it's been too long. And her kin were healthy but lonely. Sad.

"I blamed the boy for giving me a bad impression on my spirit. Our city was superstitious, more than these modern cities. Some older women agreed when I told them about it. For a moment I was proud.

"As it was always cold, I got sick often. One time I did, not long after the sheep incident, I was sick in bed. I lay there and he came by. He petted my head and said nothing. He left me a flower. He was in love with me. I hated him.

"I grew older, I told my friends about him, and they agreed that he was a handsomely mysterious fellow. So I spoke to him whenever I saw him. He quietly asserted his love to me and, by the time I was sixteen, I was crazy for him."

She paused, looking away from me.

"I shouldn't have done what I did." She continued at length.

I stared at her.

"You conceived me with him? At sixteen?"

She shoo her head.

I felt sick. I didn't know why.

"It was a joyous series of nights at the time. My friends were jealous. I was rebelling. My body felt full and warm. And he was always so quiet, so pensive, and yet he often got angry and hit me. I didn't care. I was in love.

"When he learned that an infant developing, he went away. I was so sad. I rushed after him, through the cold forests. I don't remember why I ran that night. It was so cold. A blizzard swarmed around me in my frail coat. Yet I ran on, heavy, and I carried my stomach. I heard someone scream for me from behind. I cried out, waving my arms, wanting him back. I knew he lived in a hut just outside of the forest, near the ancient stones, so I ran there. I went and went and went…

"Then I fell. It goes black. I don't remember much of this part. I remember a knot of pain. I remember so much loss. I remember waking up and finding my bed, splashed with blood, and my hands held by someone I knew and loved.

"I had lost that child.

"Terrified and stricken with guilt and sorrow, I went into the city. I found a job, I went to the hospital. I no longer wanted to be a burden on my family. For a while, it worked. I paid my bills, I checked on my body, I grew healthy again. Everything seemed fine.

"Then he came into the city. I should not have fallen in love again, but I did." She rushed to say this all. She wanted to erase the darkness inside of her by spilling the words that tainted her spirit. I let her while suppressing the urge to vomit.

She twisted her fingers. "I did it again, at nineteen. Then I knew it was you, that this was a powerful, convoluted, dangerous, sweet, precious child. He knew and ran off again. I now know that he was afraid of commitment, and more so of what his genes would produce. His blood running in another body was dangerous. Something I really don't understand.

"Then I met your true father. I made up a story of violence and unwillingness. He believed me and loved me so. We grew up, matured, and had you. Everything was fine. But you know those nights I would rush home, crazy with love again? You know he came back? Your father knew. He let me. I don't know why. He should have thrown me out or admonished me.

"Maybe the entire time I wanted punishment. Maybe I wanted to be shown my place. Maybe I needed to be put somewhere, rather than find my own place."

She fell silent, looking away from me.

She produced from her pocket a picture. She showed it to me. I felt sick again.

The picture was of him and he looked exactly like I did.


	64. 37

**37.**

Dream:

First dream in a long time.

The air of my world rippled and I pried my eyes open, slowly, letting the world flow. As I turned through the sea of grogginess, dimly aware that I was no longer awake, I noticed a figure before me. My breath left me. So beautiful.

A woman stood before me, drifting through shimmering golds, blues, purples, darkness, light, as if the dusty stars had poured their liquid light into a pool of cool water. I watched her move, slipping in and out. She wore a beautiful silk dress, the color of rubies. Her braid was a long ribbon thrown over one of her shoulders. She watched me with dark eyes.

I wanted to speak. She spoke first.

_What do you believe?_

"I…" My voice faltered. I tried to find it again. I followed her with my eyes as she drifted around me. Her body was unreal. "I don't know what I believe. I've seen too much to set my mind straight."

She smiled, and her voice like silk slipped through ethereal lips.

_Belief can be an illusion. Do you want to submit to the mirage?_

"At times I do."

_Ah, but there it is. You do not choose to believe at some times and not at others. You must always submit to it. Such is fate._

"If I believed in it."

I was mystified, and deeply comforted. The horrors of life were cleansed as I watched her beauty radiate. She cleansed my spirit, too.

If I chose to believe in one.

"Never leave me."

_I never will._

"Do you promise?"

_I once did._

"Who are you?" I wanted to bite the words as they fell away, swallow them, forget about them. But it was too late. They left. They were fated to leave. I held my breath for fear the image would shatter with my arrow of reality.

She did not leave. Her image rippled and she drew close to me. Her long fingers trailed through my hair, a mother's loving touch. I gave in. I fell into her charm.

"Don't leave." I pleaded.

_What do you believe?_

"I believe in you. You represent all that is… was good and whole in my life."

_I am your deity?_

"No—yes—!" I searched for the words that would form an adhesive. That would glue her down to my world. I would compliment her. I would boy down, kiss her feet, the hems of her dress, her hands.

_What about your two lovers?_

My heart fell.

_You do not want me to stir the ancient waters of your life? You think it is better to forget than to face your pains and sorrows?_

Don't want to be callous don't want to hurt anymore

_Of course, I can change._

She passed through a waterfall of color. Her silk dress fell to ribbons. I reached for it, not wanting to leave its beauty. She appeared on the other side as a different figure. A young man with short, snowy hair. With a beautiful, curved face and eyes like two shards of crystal gleaming like ice. He wore…

Gilded perfection.

A long, loose fitting, clear robe that stretched to the ground. It looked like starlight compressed into silk. Leather sandals covered his smooth legs. Over it he wore a snowy white jacket, fuzzy with smooth, long fur. Golden vines curled around his shoulders, cresting his head, around his forehead, twisting delicately: gold fine as lace. My breath left me. I enjoyed the beauty. I forced out the thoughts of darkness and gore from my mind. I wanted to enjoy this, desperately. No matter how selfish it was.

_I can change again._

His voice was resonant, sonorous, digging into my very soul and pulling out each gentle part of me I had.

"No." I muttered weakly, reaching for it with hands made of nothing.

_Then find me. _He turned and began to run, consumed by a thick layer of what I assumed was fog shrouding my dream.

I stared.

I waited.

Then I stood and began to run, too.


	65. 36

**36.**

Tino shed his ornate clothing, now dressed in simple trousers and a shirt. I continued to follow him through the slowly receding mist. I was still in a dream, I think, but I had nothing I could base my suspicions off of.

Tino looked behind at me.

"What do you want to see?"

I paused, but he kept walking, turning away. I sped up to walk at an even pace next to him. His steps were brisk. I recognized the movement. Whenever he was bothered or impatient his feet would move at a tense, quick pace. Then, if he was very, very angry, he would pick up the iron and do the laundry. He had his ways of coping, I had mine.

I reached for his hand. He swiftly stepped to the side, as if he hadn't noticed, and changed directions. Crestfallen, I hurried after him.

"Where do you want to go?" He asked, still kindly, but not without a dash of impatience.

"I want to go to the most heartrendingly wonderful part of my life." I begged. I still wanted to be in a good part of my life, someplace warm, someplace swathed in wonder and greatness. And, also, I was curious what good could be discovered in my life.

Tino began to ran.

I followed him.

Mists turned into shapes and the pounding silence lessened. Raindrops fell, creating a clatter of soothing noise. The white turned to grayish blue. Streets appeared around me, built from nothing by fine lines and smooth colors. Cars slipped by along a street against a pool of asphalt. Tino stepped on to a sidewalk and I followed close by. The cars' lights spilled into the rain water, clashing, creating a rainbow of shattered colors.

We walked down the neighborhood I recognized well.

He stopped before a house I recognized also and all too well.

He nodded inside. I stood by him and stared.

I saw myself, younger, sprightly, built like a machine and holding a telephone like a thin strip of wire between my fists. A smile reluctantly filled my features. I nodded, laughed, and leaned against the desk. If I strained, I could hear part of my conversation.

Tino beckoned me to lean forwards. I pressed my ear to the glass, aware that no one else could see me. I was an apparition and I would soon fade. This place would remain locked in time. I wouldn't. I would get unstuck and drift down its stream relentlessly, forever and ever, or until a figure as beautiful as the woman or Tino appeared to guide me.

"… oh really married…?"

I strained further, seeing my body shake with quiet, welcome laughter.

"No… not funny… yes… questionable sanity, haha…."

Soon the conversation ended and my body set the phone down. I watched as I turned, greeted by the small, robed figure of Tino. Tino looked up at me, eyes swimming with love.

I looked at the ghostly Tino next to me. His face was a mixture of glee, pleasure. _Not the real Tino: only a phantom. _I tried to slam my fist into this thought but it persisted, slipping between my fingers. I refused to confront reality (or what was left of it) and live this delusion only a little bit more. I reached for the ghost's hands and my fingers couldn't quite make it. Tino gave me a hard look, telling me to look.

"You wanted to see, didn't you?"

I looked back and saw my really body embracing the real Tino, kissing, hugging, laughing, and tumbling on to the couch. Tino's long, slim legs dangled on the couch's arm. I leaned back. I knew next Tino would say something I would find so painfully cute my only response would be a grunt. My heart melted. I gripped the edge of the window, my fingers struggling to grip a memory.

"I allowed you this freedom." The ghost next to me said softly. "But from now on you will see, from the outside, what I want you to see. Every once in a while I'll give you a chance to come back to this memory, a good choice I might add, or to choose another. You are at my will, but my intentions are good."

"You're not Tino." I muttered, my breath not even brushing past the glass. Rainwater slipped down the front, not touching me, going through (or around?) me.

"Would you prefer I took on a different self? I am your shadow."

"Why are you so kind?"

"Why not?"

I smiled.

"Stay this way. If my happiest memory is with Tino, I want to look at his face…" I choked up and tore my gaze away. The gore, the blood, Amahissen's lusty grins and his greedy glances at Tino, Matthias' guilt and faulty trial… I swallowed back the stone of sorrow that had lodged in my throat and looked back at the ghost. My profound sorrow swirled continuously in my mind, however.

"Lead the way." I managed to say.

Tino nodded, his clothing changing again. This time he wore black.


	66. 35

**35.**

"Do you know why this happened?" Tino asked.

He stood next to me, his white hands crossed over his ink black attire. His gaze was pinned forwards. His unsmiling features didn't glance my way. I followed his gaze, looking at the closed casket before us. Rows of people sat, all family, some weeping, some stone-faced.

I shook my head in response.

Tino nodded towards one of the rows in the front. I sat there, my body hunched over and my eyes dry. My face rested in my hands. I wore black. Tino sat next to me, teary, and trembling with the touchy emotions I was too "strong" to feel. On the other side of me Emil sat, shocked into silence. And next to him Matthias wept incessantly.

Somewhere I heard soft music.

_Voca me…. Voca me…_

In the casket I knew Lukas was laying, his face pasty, and his earthly spirit far removed. His hands would be clasped over his chest. His head twisted to one side. His body eaten up by sickness, his hair disheveled, cut, his identity removed.

"He was sick." I said to Tino at last. "I didn't know with what at the time, but it destroyed him. He started getting sick after Matthias' incident."

"What did you do? Did you at least try to prevent it?"

"I couldn't."

"Did you speak with him?"

"Not often."

"Why aren't you crying?" Tino directed my gaze back to my childhood body in the front rows. My head bowed but not trembling with cries.

I bit my lip. My out of body experience making my head whirl.

"He… I didn't know how to express… I was broken…"

Tino didn't touch me, but indicated that he was leaving. I followed him through the doors, his clothing now a soft yellow shirt and white trousers.


	67. 34

**34.**

Tino stood in the soft white sand. I listened to the murmurings of the ocean, the crashing of the waves upon the shore. My fists tightened, then relaxed. The salty air greeted my nose and filled my lungs with tranquility. Tino's hair rustled in the wind. Here, he said nothing. He didn't have to. It was my dream.


	68. 33

**33.**

I watched as Miranda lay on the couch, rubbing her swollen stomach. She stared out the window, her eyes half-lidded and sleepy. My body then was in the kitchen, working and cutting vegetables. I stood in the corner of the room with Tino, who wore simple clothing, and had a vague smile on his face.

Miranda's hair was done up and her skin blotchy and sick. She tilted her head back. The growing, developing matter inside of her would one day be called Helen. Her hand ran over the stretched blue material of her shirt.

Peter, a toddler, stumbled along in the background, chasing a toy car. The toy grunted and buzzed, clattering over the wooden floor boards. Miranda watched it trundle along, lifting her swollen feet and setting them on the table. The car hit the rug, struggled, and stopping moving. Peter's lip trembled. He bent down and picked it up, holding it like a wounded bird. He handed it to Miranda. Miranda rubbed his head gently, her eyes filled with maternal love.

She took the crank that winded the car up and twisted it. Little clicks sounded from it. Peter smiled and reached for it. She handed it back with a kiss to his temple and he went back to playing.

My body returned from the kitchen. My hands searched for the towel and I wiped them off. I stared at Miranda in admiration. Maybe not crazy love, but something compassionate, sweet, grateful.

I looked at Tino.

Tino nodded to me.

"I'm sure he would have thought you made the right choice." Tino said.

I smiled. "My heart was torn."

"But that's life." Tino paused. "Why didn't you ever tell your children the story of your life? The struggles men and women had in the past are interesting for young adults, something to think about."

"I never told him?"

"No. I don't know why. I only know what." Tino pressed his lips together.

"Maybe I should tell him."

"You can't change the past." Tino said sternly, and turned. He passed through the wall that was no longer there.

I walked after him, scared of what he was going to show me next.


	69. 32

**32.**

Tino must not have been in a rush to get to the next spot in my life. The grim look on his face told me half of this. The other half came from the world around us vanishing and sliding out of focus. Walls and ceilings separated, like through water on still wet pain, smearing colors and making their shapes indistinguishable.

Soon the world around us became a hazy blue and white, like walking through heavy, warm fog. Tino walked before me. I watched him move, telling myself that this was not Tino. It was only a reflection, an echo. But he had his voice, he had his appearance, all his mannerisms. He still looked around in wide-eyed wonder at everything as if he was seeing it for the first time, curious. He still regarded people with quiet empathy. He still walked gently, his feet never making a noise. And he still had the half-smothered smile when he turned to me.

But it was still only a reflection, no matter how perfect. A key piece was missing. It was the outside of Tino, but not his feelings, not his love. We walked quietly until Tino slowed and looked at me seriously, his eyes becoming dark.

"You want to ask me many things." He said.

"I do." I agreed.

"Ask."

With his permission, I took a deep breath and asked.

"Why did I kill her? I saw how happy I was." I was referring to Miranda. The memories of my fists falling on her like showering stones were like water in my mind. The sloshed around, chilled my heart, but was so hard to collect in my hands without it slipping through the eight crooked cracks between my fingers.

Tino grinned. "Why did _you _kill her?"

I was annoyed. Why was he asking me? I had inquired first. I was tempted to spite him, but, my nature rose up before me and I calmed. Instead of demanding answers, I asked myself questions. While I did this, Tino turned away, letting me think. Giving me time.

I reviewed his tone. He emphasized "you". He was asking why I did. But I didn't do it, maybe, is what he was asking. I thought about it for what felt like a long time, calmly walking through the undefined mist.

"It wasn't me?" I asked slowly.

"Think about how you see your life."

I thought about it. I saw it in disarray, without any clear path to follow. I jumped around, I often flew out of my body into another… To see the past, the future, other lives.

"But Miranda made it seem like it was me, I felt like I was me. Not that I was in control."

Tino nodded.

"Sometimes people remember things differently from how they actually were. In fact, that's a proven fact. It changes."

"So these are memories?" I asked.

"Answer your first question first." Tino warned.

Not me… Not me…

"I'll give you some time." Tino said, and the mist cleared, outlining clear shapes, a vaulted ceiling.


	70. 31

**31.**

The Tino next to me was fading. I reached for him. He stepped smoothly to the side, making it look like he accidentally dodged my hand. My hand lingered, before dropping back to my side. He was an incomplete husk, some key part missing inside of him. His image glittered like a ghost.

The Tino in front of me, sitting at a desk and tapping his pencil against an array of numbers bound by a matrix, was real. So real. His flesh was there, his memory vivid, his smile not a reflection but the real thing. My heart soared with longing. If only I could embrace him again.

I had Tino's reflection by me, and the reflection knew very well what it was. It wasn't real. Its sorrowful eyes regarded the teenage Tino inside, wanting desperately to be real. I wanted to believe that this was only a reflection without desires or wants, but it was its own entity. It desired something, I could tell. But I didn't know what, not yet.

The Tino doing homework leaned forwards, resting his chin on his palm. He sighed upwards, sending his hair rustling before delicately landing against his fine brow. He appeared frustrated, but nothing like he would later know. The homework before him was a minor problem, easily resolved.

I looked at the reflection with the woeful gaze.

"Why did you show me this? To torture me?" I asked quietly. I did not accuse him, I did not sound angry. I was surprised by how defeated I did sound.

"No. I have a purpose. But this one I admit was entirely selfish."

"Oh." I was right.

Tino sighed, moving his ethereal form away from the real one, and starting back into the mist. I followed, watching as he tried to decide which age and form to take next.


	71. 30

_This is possibly my favorite chapter of this story so far. _

* * *

**30.**

There was another friend in our childhood, the one that caused my father concern. As Tino wordlessly swept me into this forgotten night, I started to recollect the memories of him.

This was before the world went dark, before Matthias went mad, before sickness plagued us, before mother returned to her past and lost herself in it. Tino stood by me, pressing his hand into my back, and pushing me into the memory.

The boy's name was Tom. "Like Ol' Tom Swayer." He would boast in his nasally voice. At the time the book was banned. We only laughed uneasily. We did that often around Tom. And yet, we were drawn to him. Tino and Lukas were reluctant to befriend him. But Matthias, Emil, and I wanted to be in his company.

So what if he took us to his backyard and smoked like a chimney, showing us pictures he dug up from a magazine under his bed. This was the memory Tino showed me.

Lukas and Tino had flatly refused to go and were doing homework. In the meanwhile, innocent as we were, the three of us gathered around Tom. Tom was wearing a striped yellow shirt and his thin glasses, not unlike mine. He adjusted them constantly, puffing on the cigarette he smoked. We were positioned behind a toolshed, like soldiers hiding from potential dangers.

Tom sifted through a tattered gray and red book bag he always carried. Inside I saw cards, cigarettes, pocketknives, books, strings of wire, packs of gum, money, cloths, and a single bent toothpick. He always held on to those things like he could get up and run away at any moment, never to be seen again. Though the wire and toothpick were mysteries. We never asked. He never explained.

He picked up the magazine he had bragged to us—we were his only friends—that he had discovered under his mother's pillow. He giggled shrilly as he pulled it out, brushing his salt-and-pepper colored hair away. On the cover, marked with black marker, was a woman leaning against the bed. Matthias and I grew excited. Emil started to make an excuse to leave. Tom scoffed at him. Later he would do the same thing, convincing Emil to join the enemies he would bravely fight for (because the army wouldn't allow a messed up young man like him to join). Out of sheer spite.

"Have a smoke, Emmy, sit down." He said, gesturing for Emil to sit.

Emil took the thin cigarette, his hands trembling. Tom used a light to swiftly ignite one burning ember end, and then turned back to us. Matthias itched to grab it. I watched eagerly as Tom leafed through the papers, stopping at pages he had folded or placed small pieces of paper or tissue in.

Emil coughed as the dangerous smoke filled his lungs. His eyes watered.

"Stop smoking if it hurts doing it." I said, trying to be the voice of reason. It didn't last long. The contraband magazine was too tempting. Tino would have tugged away the cigarette and smothered it without looking up. I wasn't Tino. I never would be. I wasn't Miranda either. She would have given Emil such a stern look his lips would have become loose and the cigarette would have fallen out on its own accord.

"Let him do it." Tom said, yawning into his fist.

Matthias reached for the paper. A woman with dark skin and darker hair was sprawled across the pages on her back. Her head was tilted back, her teeth gripping a white sheet that barely covered her body.

"Hey, Matty, wanting her to pop out of the page won't work." Tom said.

Emil laughed. I frowned, examining the paper seriously. This was adult business, after all. And even though most kids at our school either feared or strongly disliked Tom, they knew that all sorts of adult things were accessible to him. At a price. I tried to be grateful that he gave these things to us for free, no charge, no problem. But I knew it was his way of thanking us for our small amount of friendship.

Soon, Matthias and I would be swept up with other throes of life. Emil, depressed after Lukas' sickness, would come back to Tom over and over. Tom was already fond of Emil. I could see it in the way he laughed at Emil and nudged him with little punches or pinches.

"But," Tom stated to gather our attention, "I know where you can see a real broad. Can touch her too."

Matthias looked far to eager. I was already apprehensive.

"Aren't we too young?" I grunted.

"Not too young if they can't see you." Tom said with a sly wink.

Emil perked up. "Like an espionage?" He said. But in his excitement he jumbled the word. It came out as "exponage".

"Yeah! Just that." Tom said, rumpling Emil's hair as if they were brothers.

And, in a way, they were.

"When can we go?" Matthias asked impatiently.

Tom shrugged. "Anytime, so long as its after nine."

Matthias nodded.

"We can lie." Emil said with a nod. "Say we went camping or to a friend's."

I sat silently. I watched them formulate the plan in the quick, haphazard, semi-joking way boys our age were prone to. Tom nodded seriously at each suggestion. He took it in and ended with a detailed explanation of what to do, what to bring. I was only half listening, but I could have sworn he said "half a pigeon", "a doll head", and "a needle, one with a big eye".

I had no idea what actually happened.

"Going, Ber?" Tom asked, grinning at me.

"No, can't." I said. "Parents are holding another party, they won't let me leave."

"Aww you're no fun! That's a helluva shame." Tom said, cursing twice for good measure.

I smiled despite myself.

"We'll get you a souvenir." Tom added. Matthias nodded.

I thanked him.

We parted ways. That night I saw Matthias, who lived close by, leaving home with Emil.

After that they never really spoke of what happened. They said it was good, saw a few chicks, but all the time they seemed dazed or shocked at the experience. Tom was unchanged, though a little bit softer spoken when he brought up dangerous things to do. Later I saw a scar on Matthias' back, during the time at war when I saw him bathe under the leaky faucet. And I saw another scar on Emil's calf. He insisted that he had fallen.

And, not longer after that, I would fall away from Tom. I was just another passing figure in his life. I never stopped regretting that, more than anything. He was hurt, in danger, and often had wounds I never knew were possible. At least Emil stayed with him.

Tino, the reflection, pulled me out of this memory. I smiled at him softly, entering the misty ethereal world. We walked down the long, long road.


	72. 29

**29.**

"Oh the dream was horrible. I must tell you, or else I feel that it would haunt me forever. Shared haunting, I suppose. Though I doubt you would ever receive the same fear and shock that I did when I had it. Waking up was relief, truly.

"In the dream I was walking through a forest. Minding my own business, wearing a red cap and green jacket. It looked like autumn. The trees were orange and red and yellow. The wind was blowing steadily. Yes, it did look like the park we went to a few weeks ago. Except autumn. How strange, dreaming of a place you've been, but at a time you haven't been in! Imagine, how did my mind do that?

"Anyway, it started off peacefully. I walked contently, my head held high, a smile on my lips. All the good stuff. A few people walked by like ghosts, walking dogs. Everything seemed so different and wrong. You know how dreams are. You feel like a paper-cut out in a shoebox, a diorama kids create for school project.

"I stopped, suddenly, and looked at the trees. They shook, as if wind had blown on them. They rattled so strangely that I threw my mouth open. I tried to scream but couldn't. So I stood there, frozen in fear, watching as the trees spasmed and threw their limbs each way, knocking into each other. The bark on them steadily grew darker until it looked as if it had been scorched off.

"No, the bark didn't bleed. Nothing of the sort. Instead, it withered and crumbled. The black stains leaked into the ground. The sky turned red, like at sunset, and it felt so cold. I hugged my body. I was trembling. I looked down and the green jacket was gone—along with everything else. It was horrible. I was stripped of it all and all I could do was tremble incessantly, shaking like those trees, watching the grass turn black than a chalky white. Wind whipped away at it, sending spirals of white gliding through the air. The trees that remained spread open.

"And… And… Oh, that's interesting. I don't remember much else of this part. And this was the scariest! Maybe it was so scary I forgot. But now that I think of it, there's this huge gap in my memory. Isn't that interesting!" The girl with the flaxen hair laughed.

It took me a long time to recognize her, standing away from my aged body sipping coffee from a paper cup. Tino glanced at the girl a few times as she spoke. But for the most part, the reflection walked away and wandered around the visiting room. Inmates were huddled by their families, exchanging kisses when the guards weren't looking or otherwise asking for things they desperately needed in their cells.

My body was haggard. My chin unshaved, my hair wispy, and my eyes cold. The girl, Helen, was cheerful and telling me all the secrets in her mind. Oddly enough, I recall, she had become much more outspoken after everything seemed to go wrong for a second, or third, time.

Helen had curled her hair, wore a light blue, thin scarf around her head to push her abundant hair back. Her eyes were heavy with mascara and her clothing was fine beige and peach, all complimenting her skin. Peter wasn't there. Did he ever visit me, I don't know.

A big purse sat at her side. She dug through it, pulling out a small, paper wrapped package. My body stirred awake, like a mountain after centuries of silence. I went to pick it up, plucking at the red ribbon. Helen watched, excited. The man, me, Berwald, unwrapped it and looked inside. A smile crept over his face. He nodded at Helen and patted her hand. He grunted in approval.

Helen shrugged it off.

"Oh no problem, don't worry. Mom would have wanted you to have it."

Berwald winced at the mention of his gone wife. The one he was falsely accused of killing with bare fists and brute force.

Tino nodded for me to go. I followed, leaving behind the gray room. The guards stood in the corner, watching. Folding table were arranged in groups of two down the center and off to the sides of the room. A fan whirred. Next to it a jug of water stood with a coffee machine and packets of cheap sugar lining a brown cabinet. It was quiet and looked trashy.

"You'll see what's in the box soon enough." Tino said, as if reading my mind.

I nodded silently, humbled.


	73. 28

**28.**

I walked with Tino for a long, long time. I wondered if he knew which memory to choose from, or if he was giving me time to digest what I had seen, what I had been. My hands slipped deep into my pockets, ones I had conjured up within the realm of my own mind.

Tino cast his eyes back at me once or twice, then swung forwards again. I wondered how he chose memories. Were they spread out in panels before his eyes. He could lift his mind and choose each one. Or maybe he had the ability so fixed into him that he did it just as simply as I walked or blinked.

Either way, it didn't matter. It still took a long time for us to walk from one point to the next.

"Where are we?" I managed to ask, surprised at how long my curiosity had been kept at bay.

Tino shrugged.

"The place just outside of time." He said, as if he didn't really think it was so interesting.

"Who lives here?"

"No one living." Tino said vaguely, then paused. "I suppose an explanation is necessary."

I nodded.

"Some unfulfilled lives end up here. Imagine time as a spherical dimension. This is just outside of it. I don't know all the physics of it. I don't even know why or even if it exists. Maybe you're dreaming, comatose, insane. Either way, you are very far away from your string of life. That thread you've been living on shakes and tangles and is frayed in many ends. Those frayed ends come here, along with other people's. You can sleep sound here. There are no rivers to overrun."

My blood turned icy. His voice, his words. Nothing about this reflection was original, a perfect, hollow copy, void of everything but one desire.

"And you?"

"I am you."

"What?"

"Depends on what you have believed. I am your shadow, your reflection, what you care most about—which would explain my current form—your desires, your life. I could be you if you did not live long enough to experience life. If your mother desired that you come out here, that you be split up into two bodies. One here, one 'there'."

"What's the truth?" I began growing irate.

"Whatever you choose. Reality exists regardless of what you believe, true." Tino paused, letting the statement settle. "But what you believe is what you see. So on a personal level your truth is the only one that matters. If you can escape yourself, as you will soon, then you can dig into what the universe is really made out of."

I nodded tensely.

He must have seen my tension because he gave me a pleasant smile.

"Don't worry about it yet. I have three more memories to show you. Then you must decide."


	74. 27

**27.**

There was nothing left to say. Tino gazed at me forlornly. I turned away and started walking back into the mist, leaving the damp grass and the real Tino buried deep in the ground.


	75. 26

**26.**

Mother cradled me as an infant in her arms. She nestled me to her side, watching father move around frantically. She was content, soothed. He was near hysteria.

Tino and I were in the corner of the room, watching Mother giggle and squeeze my palms. I laughed, gumming a finger. Father stopped, looked at me. His expression softened briefly, before splintering into harsh worry again. He went around, clamoring ceaselessly about how unprepared they were. I never recalled him to lose his stoic demeanor. Maybe it was because now Mother stood, kissed his cheek. She leaned forwards, me squeezed between them, and whispered something into his ear.

His expression shifted again. He relaxed, said something lowly. She nodded. He took me in his arms.

"Hello, sailor," he said softly. "There's a whole, big world ahead of you." He kissed my head and I raised my arms. He tickled my belly. I squealed and squirmed in delight.

Tino smiled at me. I looked at him, tearing my eyes away from the wriggling infant.

"You call your son sailor sometimes." Tino said.

I nodded. "Because of this."

"But no one calls you Elder Berry anymore."

My heart sunk.

"No. I guess that name's reached its peak."

Tino nodded morosely. Then, softly, "I'm sorry I have to show you what comes next."


	76. 25

**25.**

The hot, stinging feeling of betrayal burt in my throat instant. I frowned and stepped back, grabbing for Tino. Tino stayed out of reach. He gave me a hard look. We exchanged it, motives rising. Soon my will flagged. It didn't take much encouraging for my shoulders to slump and my feet to slide forwards. He didn't smile in triumph. This was a deed, not a battle.

He led me into my parents' room. I recalled the couple slumping into the room, dipping their hands into the cupboards. I recalled my childhood eyes peering out in fear and worry. I looked around the hall. My door was shut, as if I no longer lived there. It felt like walking into a ghost town.

Their door was cracked open. Autumn light poured into the hall from their open window. I looked in. I looked out and went back to the end of the hall, where Tino stood. I felt sick.

I had seen him: the man mother still loved after all this time. The man she destroyed herself for.

Tino stared past me.

"They had a purely physical relationship. You know that."

I gritted my teeth.

"And yet you feel so mad."

"Of course! It's adultery, betrayal. This sordid affair should have ended when she married."

"Why?"

"She had to let go of him. He wasn't a good man."

"All people aren't going to chose to be good." He sighed. "Mainly because what's 'good' is always an arbitrary boundary."

"I don't need your wisdom."

"You want to kill him?"

I stared at Tino coldly. I didn't feel my blood rise hotly from rage. Only turn icy with bitterness. I crossed my arms. I didn't know what to think. I didn't know what to feel. My feet shifted.

He gave me another long look. I relaxed again. Maybe it was Tino's pale blue eyes that could cut away my passion, and replace it with lukewarm affection. Except I couldn't scoop this Tino up into my arms and kiss him.

"Can we leave?"

Tino turned, but didn't start away. "I said I was sorry for bringing you here. You don't understand what's happening. You were a child when this all took place. You can choose where to go next."

I muttered something unconsciously and we walked on.


	77. 24

**24.**

Peter sat next to JoJo. JoJo smiled at him, then in turn at shy Helen. Helen sat next to her mother, Miranda running a hand down her hair. Tino stood next to me, his face devoid of expression. The group before us was a tightly knit quilt of a family, some threads frayed but still retaining their design. JoJo chatted about her new job staring in a film series. She wasn't a major role, but she was beautiful enough to gain a good position.

"Said they loved my face _and _my voice." JoJo said, smiling her big-toothed smile. Her hair was braided and twisted around into a bun. Her arms were laced upon her crossed legs, where leopard printed tights stretched tight. She wore a red sweater that extended into a dress a few inches below her hips.

"I'm proud." Miranda said, her hand resting on Helen's shoulder and her other in my hand. I looked so content then.

Peter was holding the gift JoJo had brought him, a model of a boat. With it came a thick booklet on the making of naval equipment. He had developed an interest in engineering recently. JoJo heard it as if the words flew out of his mouth straight to her. She pounced on the notion, even if she was digging deeply into her savings.

"Think you'll ever go to New Rome or some place across the seas?" Peter asked, not so subtly.

JoJo twisted her lips, her painted eyebrows arching. "Well, there's a new proposal recently. If I do well in this flick, maybe they'll let me go to New Rome to film." Before Peter's beam tore his cheeks up, she winked. "It's only an offer."

"Oh?" Peter asked, his voice shaking in excitement.

JoJo had that effect. She brought teenage Peter right back to his childhood excitement and naiveté. I could recall her perfume, even though with Tino visiting the memory I could only see and hear. I recalled out it smelled of fruits and a tangy, delicate, untraceable scent followed soon after. Unlike most perfumes, this didn't irritate, even though it never truly went forgotten. It was like quiet music in the background. If you pay attention, you're pleased all over again and lulled into peace.

I smiled. "Thanks, Tino."

Tino nodded.

"Do you miss them?"

"I miss everyone."

"Why? What's gone is gone."

"But I'm still here."


	78. 23

**23.**

Tino let go of me.


	79. 22

**22.**

I woke up in a white, beeping room. The sun poured in from one window. My bones ached and my head spun. I must be old, I thought. Slowly, I rose to my elbows, then my quivering, veined hands. I could barely look at my skin. What disgusting, papery gray sheets. Someone was prodding my elbow.

Two people, actually, were heaving me up by my arms. I spat at them in retort, desperately confused and wanting to disappear. I felt anxiety bubbling up in my throat like lava.

The two people set the pillows behind my back and brushed my hair away from my face. My eyes peered out beneath a canopy of eyebrows. I saw, next to me, two adults. One female, one male. The female was patting my shoulder, whispering to me that I was fine. She called me her father. I did not remember fathering such old children.

"Who are you?" I hissed.

Her eyes watered. She brushed them away. Her fingers were bloated and permanently bent on one hand. She tucked a few strands of graying hair behind her ear. No, she wasn't that old. She was just so sick. Next to her, the young man appeared blatantly older in years, but much stronger physically. He had large shoulders, blond hair brushed to one side. He wore reading spectacles. He regarded me like a fiend.

"Who are you?" I spat at him. "Don't look at me like I'm a dead rat rotting in the gutters."

"At least he's still poetic." The man said, turning to the woman. I could tell they were siblings.

"Oh, Peter. It's because of book he wrote. Look, _A Timeless Man._" She pointed at the journal resting on my bed stand. Papers stuck out of it and ribbons of notes crept out of the binding. On the cover was the title of "my" book.

_Peter… _I knew a Peter. He was my son. I gave Peter a scrutinizing look. They looked similar, for sure, but no. Peter was a young man, a strapping young man with excellent vision. And he didn't have those thin whiskers against his upper lip. This was an impostor.

"He reacted." The woman breathed. She grabbed Peter's arm. "I'm Helen." She said slowly, pointing at her chest with the bloated hand.

"No." I said. I turned away. Where did the time go? How long have I suffered? I bit my lip and held back tears of rage. If I refused to accept her as my daughter and he as my son, then they won't be. Right? I felt my eyes become cloudy. My mind turned to haze quickly. I was drifting again. I could hear her speak. I could see her face.

Tears trickled down her cheeks.

"You are too old." I grunted.

A chilly smile spread across her lips.

"I know. How did I let myself get so old?" I know she meant how did I let myself get so sick.

Sick with what?

I was curious. I stopped my heart from sinking because I should be sad for my daughter, who she was not. I gripped the bedspread, leaning my head back.

"Dad, King." Peter whispered.

My heart splintered and shattered.

"Sailor boy." I said.

Peter began to weep too. I couldn't stand the tears.

"He's delusional. Going on again about some shadow." Helen said, pointing to a new note on my bed. I felt a pen in my hand. How did it get there? Through magic? I let it go, letting it roll off the bed.

Peter scoffed. "Let him be delusional. Better than this world at war. Let him think he's reliving his life. You heard the nurse. His mind is going faster than sand through your fingers. Let him be. Stop crying. You know he can't stand it. It makes him anxious."

They continued to speak about my like this for some time.

"The operation…"

"… cost him everything…"

"… and that old war friend, Ama something, killing Mama…"

"Can't believe it."

As if I wasn't there.

As if I didn't know.

* * *

_This will be the last update for some time. I will be unable to post new chapters. Happy holidays! See you then._


	80. 21

**21.**

"Anything you want? Tea? Coffee? Oh I forgot you shouldn't have caffeine, but I won't tell anyone." Helen says with a sly wink. I glower at her, feeling the wrinkles on my face stretch. Where did the time go?

I shake my head. "No."

"But you must!" She insists. Her hair is curled into a blonde fog surrounding her face. Her lips are painted the same color as flesh. I don't like it. What's the point? I continue shaking my head.

"No. Not thirsty."

"Dad!"

She didn't call me "dad" in her youth. That I dimly remember. My memories are swirling in my head. They slip in and out of recognition. The only times I feel I can collect them into an understandable timeline, however chaotic, is when I write this in my journal.

Helen has changed. From what I gather when I look back on my notes, wondering how I kept them up, when I wrote them, why, she was a quiet, sheltered girl. Now she's buoyant. She laughs constantly and gesticulates when she speaks. She smiles and wears bright colors.

"Where's Tino?"

Helen frowns at me. "Oh, daddy." She places her palm on my cheek. I don't move. "Raving on again about your imaginary friend?" Then she leans closer. "How do you think Mom would feel if she knew you were secretly dating this _nonexistent _person?"

I am ready to slap her for all her inane insinuations. "Your mother is dead." I hiss.

Helen sighs. "Oh, you have your world, the rest of the world has its. We live in reality. I guess you can stay in your little realm of sadness."

"What do you mean?"

She shakes her head promptly, her curls bouncing. "Think what you want."

"Tell me what you mean."

"I'll tell you soon."

"Why?"

"You're sick now."

I turn away. I don't want to listen anyway.


	81. 20

**20.**

A pair of photos arrived in the morning. The nurse came by, setting a thick envelope on my bedside. She looked at me with her pale eyes and flashed me a weak smile. I did not return it. In a method of exasperation to turned around, her long brown braid bouncing against her blue uniform. I looked at the paper.

My aged hands (really, where did the time go?) reached for it. I ripped it open. Inside I found them. One I recall from wartime, once tucked into my uniform. I saw Tino, his faded, happy face. The picture as old as the memory. Melancholy hung to it like a heavy perfume. I reread the back, my eyes brimming with tears.

The other picture took me a moment to recognize. I had taken it. Tino stood by the window, his palms on the sill, and his head poking out into the street. His hair was such a lovely, light color. He wore one of my white shirts. It reached halfway down his thighs. Down to his knees he wore red sorts. His bare feet lifted from the floor. Made of ivory. Beauty divine.

On the back of his one was a note.

_"And this maiden she lived with no other thought/than to love and be loved by me […] in this kingdom by the sea" do you remember this poem? It was our favorite. You found it in the lost books section of our library. One of those banned books. I remember when you read it. I remember the unfathomably strong love, a love just like ours. You took this picture the morning after we found it. Good memories, poetic thoughts. _

_Loving you so truly and deeply, never forget even in wartime, _

_Tino _

I pressed the photo to my heart and shut my eyes. Resetting, and forgiving.

* * *

_I do not own the poem Annabel Lee a poem by Edgar Allen Poe (possibly one of my favorite poems ever). _

_One of my reviews has suggested Are We the Waiting by Green Day to go with this story. The tone fits many of the chapters well, I agree. Check it out! _


	82. 19

**19.**

_Yes, I worry incessantly. _

_Why?_

_I don't know… Maybe from love?_

_Maybe. _


	83. 18

**18.**

Trail of thought writing: write what comes to my mind

my schizoid mind?

I make less and less sense each day I know that. I heard Helen crying because I babbled something incoherent. I see Tino at the doors. I see my heart in my head I see wars neurosurgeons screaming fires

rocking chairs

lambs?

a clock ticking by

nothing making much sense

my head's crazy


	84. 17

**17.**

"I get it."

Peter looked at Helen. He had been attempting to speak to me. I held my tongue. Helen didn't make eye contact with either of us. Her lips twisted into a look of concern.

"What?" He asked.

She shut her eyes.

"It's a problem with his psyche."

Peter huffed. "Shut up. Like you know what you're saying. You dance for a living."

My gaze flicked from him to her. Her eyes smouldered with rage. She crossed her arms. I could see the indignant, lost shadow cross her face. She shook her head. Today her hair was flattened and tied back.

Her shoulders relaxed.

"I'm serious."

Peter pointedly rolled his eyes.

"I _really _am."

"Then what's wrong?"

"A parental problem."

Peter raised his hand like he was about to strike her.

"Stop." She hissed. "Why else do you think he's so distant and keeps going on about some sort of other country and war. We grew up in the suburbs of North America. Not a future, crazy, space-age world. With rockets and hazy borders. What is he thinking?"

"He was a writer. Now he's just confused." Peter insisted.

"Why is he confused?"

"He's old. Sis, don't bother him with this."

My fists tightened. I didn't know why. What were they going on about?


	85. 16

**16.**

In my life there have been times when I feared that the world had continued to rotate without me. And, whenever those times crossed my path, I came to realise with a sudden pain in my heart, just how self-centred that thought was. The world went on and left me alone? The whining sounded like something a teenager who had yet to understand there were people other than them would say. With each sighing breath, even the youngest of my many selves, boarding a ship going so far away to a place I didn't necessarily believe in, I knew that the pain threatening to tear my heart apart was only arbitrary.

So I got better. I refused to stay in the hospital for much longer. According to my files I was only in my early sixties. That was not an age to suffer bedridden in a bad-smelling hospital. I stood up and focused on getting better. I took my journal, the one I haphazardly slapped the title _A Timeless Man _on, and I tucked it into a bag at my side. When they dismissed me, the doctors astonished at my hard-headed recovery, I went outside alone. I denied them calling my children or my apparently still-living wife, and I left. I had no car with me.

Aside from the journal, pictures, my memories, and my clothing, I had nothing.

So I walked. I walked away from the hospital, under rustling summer leaves and the hushed breezes of summer. A stubborn old man walking amid giggling couples and children racing past on bicycles. I must have seemed like a grouchy stranger.

What they didn't know was the courage that was festering in my heart. And the agony, the sorrow, the copious amounts of guile it took for me to take that path. Maybe a small foreign lady driving in a car was hilarious to them, while it was an act of sheer bravery to her. Driving in a strange country with strange rules for some cause or other. Laugh while you may. Misunderstanding is finite, while one can never forget true understanding.

I had a few dollars in my pocket, still in circulation luckily, which I found when I approached the pond. I went to the drug store. I purchased a packet of matches. I returned to the pond, now witnessing the sun set into evening. I stood before the lake and flicked the match against the box. A tiny flame, like a beating heart, came to life at the tip. I set it to the corner of my journal. The flame caught, curling up the leather and eating up the pages. Ash trickled down like rain.

I waited.

I lit another match.

I tossed the remains into the river. The scarred, unreadable salvaged papers drifted down the stream along with burnt-out cigarette butts and wads of paper. It tumbled down stream, far away, along with my memories.

That is how I started my new life, and my new journal. As an old man with a scorched past.


	86. 15

**15.**

**Fifteen minutes left.**

So I run. I run, running in this jungle. A thousand faces of my memory swarm around me like bees hungry to eat my flesh.

The faces appear in the trees, in the sky. No clear distinctions, no clear form. Only vague mirages hanging in the great blue sky, vaulting so high my head spins.

* * *

_This story ends tonight. _

_Yes the formatting was pre-planned not the result of laziness. _


	87. 14

**14.**

**Fourteen minutes left.**

I stop running to take a breath and think over what has happened.

I had been in the park, tossing stones into the river or throwing bread I bought from the drug store to the ducks. I stood at the edge, content. The air ruffled my hair, my head held high, a smile perched on my lips so delicately it could slip away at any moment.

One second, life felt so real. I felt true to the world and universe, memories flowing back like a steady old stream. I was no longer torn between time lines. I no longer time-jumped. I simply was.

I smile, checking my watch, sweat trickling down my face. Before me the woods constricted before expanding into a sandy lot. My heart skipped a beat:


	88. 13

**13.**

**Thirteen minutes left. **

I sit down on a bench, kicking up dust.

My shoes are so worn and frayed, I fear the leather would rip off. But I don't have that much time left anyway.

As I had stood by that pond, my heart began to pound. I looked around, afraid a threat had been instigated somewhere behind me. My fingers curl around the piece of bread I held. Ducks quacked for more in the distance. I began to worry, my eyes dilating.

Blue light, then, flashed before me. I blinked at the sight, stumbling back. My eyes watered. The light flickered and pulsed, a living being not waves carried through the universe. I saw a flash of sound, I saw memories.

Then a wild explosion in my head. It said:


	89. 12

**12.**

**Twelve minutes left.**

"YOUR HOUR ON EARTH IS NEAR A PAST, BUT YET A QUARTER REMAINS. BE AS YOU MIGHT, BUT THE CLOCK TICKS LIKE HEARTBEATS."

The voice, the same voice whose owner had slipped me a note in a life so far away and long ago. It spoke to me then. It was myself, or my love, my life, my everything and my nothing. It was far away and yet here at the same time. I trembled and bit my lips. My fingers loosened and the bread fell to the grass. So I started to run.

Fourth…

Fifteen minutes.

I figured it out quickly. Three lifetimes gives one plentiful knowledge.

My springily feet took me away from the living form that was me, making me a deity.

Four… Forty six… and two… chromosome?

No. My shadow had spoken to me.

That was the life I led.


	90. 11

**11.**

**Eleven minutes left. **

So I sit on the bench, recording these thoughts verbally to the blue shadow of an overrun river. To record, to never forget. For what has been said can never be retrieved. Even if it goes unheard.

I lean my head back. I now longer need to run.


	91. 10

**10.**

**Ten minutes left. **

I no longer have greying hair. My hair has gone back to its flaxen youth. My hands that rest upon my lap no longer hold veins like rivers. Instead they run smooth. Steadily I grow younger. My childhood trickling back into me, my life going back in flashes.

And what a beautiful, confusing, hard life it was.


	92. 9

**9.**

**Nine minutes left.**

When growing older, one seems to feel that life gets shorter. That times goes by more quickly.

As I sit on this bench, the clock winding backwards faster than the single explosion that formed the entire universe, I feel time travelling by further and further.

I can no longer call myself a timeless man.

I am a victim to time, just like the rest of finite life that makes home on this good earth.

I had only been gifted with two extra chances to make amends. And I hope that at one point I did.


	93. 8

**8\. **

**Eight minutes left...**

… to what?


	94. 7

**7.**

**Seven minutes left.**

Ah, the number of unity. The number of counsel. Seven men to a table, all to speak and to decide the fate of thousands of other lives.

Seven to a million? Why? What for?

My hands grow smaller.

I feel hot tears trickle down my face. Seeing the world through the eyes of a child once more. My heart thumps with the glee of seeing light far more vivid than before. Another gift. I long for mother and father and for guests coming into my house at midnight. And for a new world with fresh waters to sail and for new lands to conquer. And for a world of peace and playing and of scratched knees. All lives bound together with innocence.


	95. 6

**6.**

**Six minutes left. **

Where I ask to never find.


	96. 5

**5.**

**Five minutes left. **

And still the rivers overrun.


	97. 4

**4.**

**Four minutes left. **

I won't hurt anymore.


	98. 3

**3.**

**Three minutes left.**

I love you,


	99. 2

**2.**

**Two minutes left.**

you only,


	100. 1

Tino


End file.
